An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 8

So says the poet, so says Mahu when he first met Nefertiti! ‘She of Pure Heart and Pure Hands, Beloved of his Flesh, Great King’s Wife whom he loves beyond all others. Lady of the Two Lands, Mistress of the Diadem, Wearer of the Two Plumes, Mistress of the House! Nefertiti, may she live forever! Beloved of the Great High Sun Disc who dwells in eternal jubilee.’

I still sing her praises. The very thought of Nefertiti sets my heart dancing in its own dark chamber. The faintest whiff of her fragrance is like the sound of gushing water in a stone-dry desert. She is the warmth on the coldest night, that wide-eyed girl whose memory calls across the years as clear as the song of a swallow on a quiet spring morning. Nefertiti’s touch is still with me; her smile warms my soul and sends the memories whirling like birds from a thicket. She comes to me on the wings of an eagle in the dead of night wrapped in storms, Nefertiti, my pearl of great price. My witch queen with her face of dazzling beauty. Nefertiti, the beautiful woman who has arrived!

Nefertiti arrived during the hot season in the thirty-third year of the Magnificent One’s reign. She and her entourage swept into the courtyard to be met by Akhenaten, his mother, God’s Father Hotep and myself standing behind them. Oh, how shall I describe her? How do you describe the sun? The cool North wind? The beauty of a million dazzling flowers? Oh, of course, I shall try. She was about medium height dressed in embroidered robes. She shimmered and dazzled in jewellery: a pair of bracelets of copper, gold-studded with turquoise, cornelian and lapis lazuli were fastened to her wrists by a golden clasp. A necklace of unique pendants decorated her exquisite neck: it was made of balls of turquoise, lapis lazuli and cornelian, all set in gold cages, and, in the centre an amulet with the inscription: All Life and Protection. Against her lovely chest rested a falcon pectoral displaying the sun disc; it was inlaid with precious stones of blue glass. Anklets of amethyst and gold beads glittered above silver sandals with thongs of pure gold. She was most graceful of form, long-legged and narrow-waisted; the front of her white gown was pulled tightly back to tease us with her full white breasts and elegant throat. People have asked me to describe her face. Perfection in every sense! Oval-shaped with high cheekbones, a short narrow nose above full red lips. Her skin was like dusty gold framed by dark-red hair which cascaded down to her shoulders. Finally, those eyes! Dark blue, eerily beautiful beneath the heavy painted lids. Yet Nefertiti’s beauty was more than that. The way she walked, languorous but purposeful, head slightly back, the imperious gaze belied by the laughing mouth and sparkling eyes.

On that day, Nefertiti came and stopped before Akhenaten and crossed her arms, coy though seductive, her lovely fingers splayed out against her shoulders. She bowed her head. Even as she did so, she winked at Akhenaten, and, in a soft but carrying voice, spoke the formal words of greeting. Akhenaten took her hands. From where I stood behind him I sensed the joy which flooded his entire being. He replied formally, their faces met then parted. After this we processed into the audience hall, rich with the smell of cooking and the aroma from pots of perfume and countless baskets of sweet-smelling flowers. Eventually I was introduced. I did not make the obeisance: I just stood and stared at this woman whom I had loved at first sight and will love to my last breath. Akhenaten coughed. Nefertiti smiled, one eyebrow slightly raised, the tip of her tongue between those delicious lips. She laughed, came forward, hands touching my arms, those dazzling blue eyes dancing with mischief.

‘You are Mahu.’ She spoke as if I was a close friend, a brother. ‘You are Mahu,’ she repeated, ‘the Prince’s childhood friend. I have longed to meet you.’ She paused and glanced in mock anger at Akhenaten. ‘You are more handsome than they said,’ she added impishly.

I made the obeisance. She withdrew her hand, the tip of her fingers caressed my skin.

We were ushered to our seats. Hotep and Tiye sat at one end of the small table, Akhenaten and Nefertiti at the other. I sat facing the other person who was to play such an important role in my life though, to be honest, at first I hardly noticed his smiling face. My heart was still singing, my blood thrilling, I was in the Field of the Blessed. Oh, of course, Nefertiti was Akhenaten’s betrothed. She would become the Nebet Per, the mistress of the house, the Ankhet Ennuit, his married woman, the Hebsut, his wife. Yet that did not concern me. She was so beautiful. Who cared how many might stare, touch, possess her, as long as I could?

The food was served, the goblets filled. I sipped and ate absentmindedly, almost unaware of the diced meat mixed with rice and nuts, the cauliflower and anchovies, the fish in lemon, the lamb and beef in their savoury sauces. Nefertiti was my food and drink. I studied her out of the corner of my eye. Her moods were as changeable as the moon, shy but coquettish. She flirted outrageously with Akhenaten, fluttering her eyelashes, their hands brushing, touching and teasing beneath the table. At times she broke off talking to him and turned to the servants. She ignored the disfigurement of the Rhinoceri but chattered pleasantly to them, asking for their names and how long they had served. Snefru, acting as steward, was specially singled out and complimented. Nefertiti in those first few hours captivated everyone, with her charm and tact. Eventually I had to look away. Her gaze would catch mine, the smile would fade, her eyes becoming more searching as if she was weighing me in the balance like the Goddess Ma’at, sifting for the truth. Only then did Ay sitting opposite me make his presence felt.

Ay, father of Nefertiti, handsome and dangerous as a panther. A man in his mid-thirties who had seized the cup of life and meant to drink it to the dregs. He was comely of face with a hard, muscular body, every inch the professional soldier. He wore a short, oiled and perfumed wig over his reddish, cropped hair, those sharp, ever-seeing eyes heavily lined with kohl, his handsome, highcheeked face delicately painted. I could see the likeness between father and daughter though Ay possessed an obvious sharpness, carefully hidden beneath effete movements, exquisite manners and precious speech. He had intelligent eyes, a smiling mouth, smooth cheeks and an even smoother tongue. Even then, fascinated as I was by Nefertiti, I recognised a dangerous man, who rejoiced and exulted in his own talents as well as those of his beautiful daughter.

Oh yes, Ay was a joy to behold and a terror to be with. From the very beginning it was so. A mongoose of a man, of cunning heart and keenest wits. He was dressed in embroidered robes, silver rings on his fingers, and a collar of gold around his neck. He ate and drank sparsely, more intent on studying me. When I noticed him, he grinned boyishly and extended his hand across the table. I clasped it. He then gently led me into conversation about the hunting along the river, the price of wheat, and the details of his own journey down the Nile. At the end of the meal Hotep and Queen Tiye withdrew, as did Akhenaten and Nefertiti, hands clasped together, whispering endearments. I watched them go, such a strange contrast. Akhenaten with his ungainly body and strange face, the jerky movements, the tap of his cane; Nefertiti almost gliding beside him. Yet it was not so much a contrast. They complemented each other: Akhenaten with his sharp, haunting features next to the glorious beauty of his companion. It was almost as if they were no longer man and woman but merged to become one flesh, one being.

Once they’d gone, I felt as if the sunlight had left the room. For a while I sat sadly cradling my wine cup. Ay plucked a grape and coughed. I looked up, the servants had gone. Only Snefru guarded the door.

‘You are fascinated by my daughter?’

‘Any man would be.’

Ay smiled, his eyes half-closed as if he was tired and had drunk too much. He began a desultory conversation but, as he talked, I became aware of how crafty he was. Oh, he mentioned the gossip of the court, once again the weather and the crops. He also used such items to let slip how much he knew, as well as details of his own life: his two marriages, his career as a scribe, his war service as a commander of a chariot squadron. In any other situation he would have been a bore. He kept filling my wine cup, at the same time watching me intently.

‘Life changes, Mahu.’ He put the wine jug down, his hands going beneath the table, a deliberate movement; with any other man I’d suspect he was searching for a knife. Then his right hand came up. ‘I am your friend, Mahu. I have watched you. I know all about you. I am one with you.’

This time the offer of a hand was more formal. He curled back his fingers to reveal an amber and jasper amulet depicting the Aten in the palm of his hand. ‘I am your friend, Mahu, your ally.’

‘Under the sun,’ I replied, ‘no trust will last, neither in brother nor in friend. Don’t they tell us, the Wise Ones, not even to put our trust in Pharaoh or our confidence in the war-chariots of Egypt?’

‘But a true friend is powerful protection,’ he retorted. ‘It is dangerous to walk alone under the sun.’

I clasped the hand. Ay gripped my fingers and tightly squeezed, then let me withdraw, pushing the amulet into my hand.

‘Come,’ he drained his cup. ‘We have eaten and drunk enough.’

We left the hall of audience arm-in-arm as if we were blood brothers or father and son, Ay talking, gesticulating with his fingers, saying how pleased he was to see the marvels of the Malkata Palace. How he, his family and entourage would be moving into the House of Residence. Once we were through the gate and into the olive groves he dropped such pretence. He clasped my arm, asking me sharp, short questions. Where did I come from? What about my years in the House of the Kap? My experience in war? The campaign against the Kushites? My friendship with Sobeck? He asked such questions though he already seemed to know the answers. Exasperated, I paused. I wanted to go back to the house and feast my eyes on Nefertiti.

‘You said you knew everything about me,’ I confronted him. He was the same height as me. Ay clicked his tongue and glanced away.

‘I wanted to hear you talk, Mahu. Yes, I know everything about you — and more. I knew your mother.’ He smiled at my astonishment. ‘She was beautiful. Did you know that she was distant kin?’

I shook my head in amazement.

‘Oh yes’ — he made that airy gesture again — ‘third or fourth cousin. I forget now. However, her mother came from the town of Akhmin.’ His grin widened and he punched me playfully on the shoulder. ‘So it’s good to meet you, kinsman.’

‘I never knew this.’

‘Of course you didn’t.’ He cleaned his mouth with his tongue. ‘Your father was besotted with her. A happy couple.’ He glanced over my shoulder as if studying something behind me. ‘Aunt Isithia, however,’ he smiled grimly, ‘she was different, wasn’t she? Your father’s half-sister. A sour vessel, Isithia. Crooked of speech and crooked of soul. Did you know she was married twice?’

Ay enjoyed my amazement. ‘Oh yes, a young priest in the service of Amun-Ra at Luxor. He died of a fever, or so they say. Some people whispered that he had been given a little help across the Far Horizon.’

‘Aunt Isithia?’

‘In her days she was a temple girl and more. She dabbled in the black arts, became skilled in potions and poisons. Some said she was a witch, others a necromancer who cast horoscopes.’

He walked round me, as if to ensure that no one lurked in the trees, no spy eavesdropped. He stopped beside me, his mouth only a few inches from my ear.

‘When the Prince was born, the priests of Amun-Ra went to Aunt Isithia and asked her to cast a horoscope, to draw back the veil of time and glimpse the future.’

My heart skipped a beat. Ay’s touch on my shoulder was cold, his voice hoarse yet powerful, as if speaking across the years and rousing nightmares in my adult soul.

‘So you see, Mahu’ — it was as if he could read my mind — ‘accidents do not happen. You were not included in the Kap because of your father but because of your aunt. In her younger days she was a beauty and she offered services as a widow to other priests. They say she even had a cure for impotence; a strict mistress, Isithia.’

I recalled those cries in the night, those mysterious cowled visitors.

‘Did Isithia cast the horoscope for the Prince?’

‘Of course.’ Ay kept his mouth close to my ear. ‘She predicted the Prince would deal out justice and judgement to the other gods of Egypt. If the priests had had their way, the Prince would have been drowned at birth. The Magnificent One almost agreed, had it not been for my sister Tiye and the protection of He who sees and hears all that is done in secret.’

‘And she cast my horoscope?’

‘Yes. You were born at about the same time as the Prince. You know how it’s done? The horoscope of a commoner against that of a Prince of the blood. The priests demanded this. They were astonished when Isithia declared that your life and that of the newborn Prince — the Grotesque,’ he pronounced the name slowly, ‘were inextricably linked.’

‘And they demanded my death?’ I felt the sudden rush of blood to my face.

‘Of course,’ Ay whispered, ‘but the Magnificent One was most reluctant. Your father was a great soldier and Queen Tiye — well …’ he sniggered. ‘The priests may have had Pharaoh’s ear but she had access, how can I say, to other parts of his body? You were always destined for the Kap, Mahu. Brought here and watched and then allowed to serve the Grotesque. The Magnificent One is fascinated. He wishes to see if the horoscope cast unfolds, if your aunt spoke with true voice.’ He patted me on the shoulder and came to stand squarely in front of me. ‘The Magnificent One allowed both of you to live but your aunt, under pain of death, was forbidden to cast a horoscope ever again. You were too young to remember this: she was taken away in the dead of night by men from the House of Secrets. They kept her in a chamber, polluted by the corpses of slaughtered animals.’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘Oh, it must have been six or seven days on hard bread and brackish water. A stinking pit, a warning to her of what might happen if she ever violated the Decree of the Divine One.’

‘The flies?’ I whispered. ‘Aunt Isthia always hated flies.’

‘So would you,’ Ay laughed, ‘if you had been locked in a pit with swarms all about you, crawling over your flesh.’

‘So, this is all ordained?’

He caught the sarcasm in my voice.

‘We don’t believe in that, do we, Mahu?’

I shook my head. Ay took my hands in his, head slightly to one side.

‘I do like you, Mahu. So, tell me the truth.’

‘I don’t believe Aunt Isithia could see the future,’ I replied.

‘But?’ Ay let go of my hands.

‘Aunt Isithia was first married to a soldier, then to a priest of Amun-Ra,’ I explained. ‘As a widow she served other priests who came to drink from her cup of pleasure. From the moment …’

‘From the moment Akhenaten was born,’ Ay finished the sentence.

‘From the moment Akhenaten was born,’ I continued, ‘the priests were against him. They saw him as a curse from God, ungraceful of face and not fair of form. Isn’t that how they put it? How could such a Prince be presented to the people? How could such a Prince embody the glory of Egypt? How could such a Prince with his ugly face and deformed body enter the Holy of Holies to make sacrifice? They wanted him dead and Aunt Isithia simply complied with their wishes.’

‘Very good,’ Ay nodded. ‘And yourself, Mahu?’

‘My mother died giving birth. Isithia hated her. My father was a soldier, often absent on military service. Aunt Isithia was saddled with an unwanted brat. She wished me dead but tried to pass the responsibility onto others. She sowed the seeds.’ I shrugged. ‘And we all know the harvest. Akhenaten was cursed and I must live with that curse. So, when my father died, the Divine One felt guilty. He recalled the oracle and so I joined the Kap.’

Ay stood back and clapped his hands softly.

‘Very clever, Mahu.’

‘There were no oracles,’ I declared. I turned, hawked and spat. ‘Just a wicked woman and her accomplices. That’s why she was arrested, wasn’t she, and taken to the Place of Chains, the House of Secrets? The Divine One wanted to make sure she spoke with true voice.’ I laughed abruptly. ‘Of course Aunt Isithia saw the future then. If she confessed that she’d told a lie, she would have stayed in that pit, whatever the gaolers promised her. It was better for her to stick to her story and hope for the best.’

‘And that, my dear Mahu, is how legends begin.’

‘But do you believe,’ I asked, ‘that Akhenaten will dispense judgement and justice to the other gods of Egypt?’

Ay bent down, picked up a rotting fig from the ground and squashed it between his fingers. ‘That’s how much I feel about the gods of Egypt, Mahu. What I do believe in,’ he stared at me, a gleam of fanaticism in his eyes, ‘is the glory of Egypt, the power and majesty of Pharaoh. The rattle and charge of her war-chariots and the tramp of her regiments.’ He gestured with his hand. ‘But in Thebes, in Memphis, in all the great cities of the Nile, Egypt harbours a viper in her bosom: the power of the priests. The power of the temples, their wealth, their hunger for more.’ He drew closer again. ‘The real threat to Egypt does not lie in the barbarians who throng our borders or the Libyan Desert Wanderers, jealous of our cities, eager for our gold. It’s the enemy within, Mahu. They must be curbed.’ He spread his hands. ‘Look at the Divine One,’ he whispered, ‘the Glorious One. How does he spend his time, Mahu? By building more temples and glorifying the priests! He has let the raging lion in the door, and thinks by throwing meat at it he will satisfy its hunger.’ He shook his head. ‘The lion must be either driven out or killed. Politics, Mahu,’ he grinned, ‘that’s what I believe. My politics are my religion. My religion is my politics. And what are politics but the pursuit of glory and power of our House and the Kingdom of Egypt?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Now you could ask why I have spoken to you so frankly, so openly. Because, Mahu, you and I are kindred souls. I need you, you need me. And where can you go? To the priests of Amun-Ra? To the Divine One? To God’s Father Hotep? They’d simply torture you for everything you knew and later bury you out in the hot sands. They’d forget you even before the dirt began to fill your mouth and nostrils. You are with us, Mahu, because you want to be but, more importantly, because you have to be.’ He grasped me by the shoulder. ‘Now tell me — these troops that are camped around our master’s house: are they there to spy, protect, or do both?’

And chatting like two lifelong friends, we continued our walk through the sunfilled grove and into the bloody intricate politics of the imperial court.

It’s remarkable how people can draw a line under events, then look back and say, ‘That’s when it happened, that’s when it changed.’ Sometimes it’s an easy task: the crucial point is marked by the death of a ruler or a relative. Sometimes the change is so gradual that only on reflection do you realise that things were never the same again after a certain point. The arrival of Nefertiti and her entourage marked such a change. Imperceptible at first, their influence grew like ivy round the vine, higher and tighter, spreading out its creepers.

After our little talk, Ay became a firm ally, a tactful but forceful adviser. He was at least fifteen summers older than me, yet I had to shake myself to realise he had not been with me in the Kap. Nefertiti, of course, I always regarded as a dream who dwelt in my soul since the moment of conception; I recognised and loved her immediately. I accepted the others of her retinue because of her. The principal of these was Ay’s half-brother, Nakhtimin. He had resigned his colonelcy of a regiment to join his relatives at the Malkata. A slender, dour man of few words, Nakhtimin served as Ay’s Chamberlain and Principal Steward, constantly in the background organising and managing, seeing to the small things of life. He was particularly interested in Snefru and Akhenaten’s personal guard. Despite the difference in status, he and Snefru became friends. Nakhtimin turned those whom Horemheb had contemptuously dismissed as ‘toy soldiers’ into a professional fighting force. He, Snefru and I often went out into the wastelands to recruit similar men who had either lost their souls or were prepared to sell them. We were like a wall which ringed a garden. Akhenaten lay at the heart of this garden and he flowered as if a fire blazed in his soul. Of course, within weeks he and Nefertiti were married. The simple ceremony was followed by a sumptuous feast, supervised by Ay and witnessed by Tiye, Crown Prince Tuthmosis, Nakhtimin and myself. I gave them gifts, an alabaster jar of the most expensive Kiphye perfume for Nefertiti and a glorious bow of honour to my master.

When Nefertiti moved into Akhenaten’s quarters, I felt a stab of jealousy though this was soon soothed by her very presence, my closeness to her. She and Akhenaten were absorbed with each other, living in a paradise of their own creation. Akhenaten lost his fretful energy, that occasional vindictiveness, and became calmer, more harmonious. The physical changes were equally noticeable; the furrowed lines disappeared around his brow and cheeks. Nefertiti also taught him how to move more easily, to exude a certain majesty in his bearing, a bravery in accepting his disabilities whilst turning them into something special.

The weeks passed. Ay was busy in the House of Residence. Akhenaten and Nefertiti, hand-in-hand, would tour what they now called their Palace of the Aten, be closeted in their chamber or, surrounded by their guards, go out into the gardens and grounds. At first Akhenaten was so besotted with Nefertiti, I hardly spoke to him. One day I was sitting in the pavilion when I heard his footsteps and there he stood in the doorway resting on his cane, clutching his gauze-like robe tightly. I could tell from the dirt on his knees and the specks of mud on his robe that at such an early hour, just after dawn, he and Nefertiti had been out worshipping their god. Once the Beautiful Woman had arrived, there were no more nightly forays into the desert or cloaked strangers gathering at the gates. This was not only due to Nefertiti but the arrival of imperial troops and the accompanying spies who watched us every second of the day. On that morning Akhenaten’s face was solemn. I would have slipped to my knees on a cushion but he gestured that I sit back and he knelt before me. He stared earnestly up at me.

‘I never knew, Mahu,’ he began, ‘there could be so much happiness. I have been in the Land of Incense. I have flown on eagle wings beyond the Far Horizon.’ He leaned closer, pride blazing in his eyes. ‘I am a Prince of the Blood, Mahu. I am Akhenaten but, first and foremost, I am a man. In that, there is no difference’ — he gestured with his hand — ‘between myself and those around me.’

It was the first and only time my master Akhenaten, beloved of the One, ever compared himself to another man, ever claimed to possess that ordinary humanity, ever boasted of our common heritage. He touched me gently on the forehead, rose and left. I knew what he meant. On occasions, both he and Tiye had hinted that, because of his disability, Akhenaten was a eunuch, impotent, incapable of the most sacred act, unable to beget an heir. It was one of those cruelties thrust into his soul by the malicious-minded priests and the detractors surrounding him. Nefertiti, with her consummate skill, potions and powders, soon changed all that.

My own relationship with Nefertiti developed; there was no more teasing and sometimes I would catch her studying me.

‘You are not a baboon, Mahu,’ she once remarked as I helped her supervise the gardens, ‘you are a cat, that’s what you are. You sit and watch us, don’t you, with those dark brooding eyes and heavy face? The Beloved,’ her constant description of Akhenaten, ‘always talks of you. How you have played, feasted and even fought together.’ I never contradicted her. In his fevered brain, Akhenaten apparently depicted me as a brother, the real blood-brother he wished he had.

Within a year Nefertiti’s influence over Akhenaten was complete. He wouldn’t do anything without her, constantly seeking her advice and, by implication, Ay’s. Sometimes he would rise late, heavy-eyed and drowsy, but always content, at peace. The most constant visitor was Ay, walking with his daughter or briefing the Prince on the gossip of the palace and what was happening in the great city of Thebes. Akhenaten, Nefertiti beside him, would listen carefully. Both of them would question Ay and later discuss what had been said. If my master changed, Nefertiti did not. She remained serene yet vivacious, a goddess in splendour, be it in her tight sheathlike dresses on formal occasions or in an elegant loose-fitting robe, flowers in her glorious hair as she moved around the palace. Never once was she, her father or the Prince invited into the imperial presence but this did not seem to bother them. In fact, they seemed quite content, as if lulling the suspicions of those they knew were watching them.

Nefertiti truly became mistress of the house. She would question Snefru and the servants, study the accounts, check the stores or go into the kitchens, supervising the cooks, winning them over with her charm and wit. She was fascinated by the gardens and proved herself a skilled herbalist, becoming in all but name, the palace leech and apothecary. She knew the properties of mountain celery — how, mixed with juniper berries and other ingredients it would calm pains in the belly; how birthwort in red wine would ease cramps and bring about sleep; how melon leaves could treat blood ailments whilst maringa oil mixed with figs would reduce inflammation in the gums. She was greatly interested in medicine and kept her own stores of potions and powders. She treated her own husband and, yes, the rumours were true — she was skilled in aphrodisiacs and in more exotic remedies for illnesses of the soul.

Ay was the only one who left the Residence, often journeying down to Thebes to the temples or to walk in the marketplace. He and Nakhtimin his half-brother would visit acquaintances, officials and officers and bring back all the gossip and rumour. Nakhtimin would often be the only guest at dinner, with food especially cooked by the Princess herself, delicious and savoury. The wine would flow and we would discuss, till the early hours, the affairs of Egypt, the growing might of the Hittites, the Magnificent One’s alliance with Tusharatta, King of the Mitanni, the disturbances in Canaan and how these problems must be resolved. On one occasion Ay announced that the Divine One, concerned that Ay was not receiving the help and support he needed, had despatched a highranking scribe to assist. The chosen scribe, Ineti, was from the House of Life in the Temple of Amun-Ra; he was lean-visaged and bony-framed. Ay had no choice but to accept him, but we all knew Ineti was really there to spy.

Queen Tiye also visited, but not as often as she used to: she had aged somewhat, seemed troubled and perhaps was a little jealous of Nefertiti’s closeness with her son. On rare occasions, Crown Prince Tuthmosis also arrived with his entourage. He looked better, though still thin, slightly weary with a racking cough. He, too, fell under the spell of Nefertiti and his envy of his younger brother was almost palpable.

If a distance had grown up between myself and Akhenaten, Nefertiti compensated for this. She would often single me out for discussion about this or that, her beautiful face always smiling, always serene but those striking blue eyes curious as if she hadn’t decided who I truly was. Sometimes she’d talk about her early childhood, her days in Akhmin, how her father had educated her and how, like her Aunt Tiye, she had entered the service of the God Min in the local temple. She could pull a bow, knew how to handle a sword or dagger and often asked me to accompany her to watch the Prince’s bodyguard be drilled on the parade ground. On occasion she’d even ask me to join her inspecting the Khonsu, the company camped beyond the walls. Naturally, she was a welcome guest there, being shown every honour. At first I thought she wanted to flirt with the officers, which she certainly did, but she was more interested in their knowledge, their experience in war, their handling of weapons, particularly the use of massed archers and the effectiveness of a chariot squadron. We went along the river, chatting to the marines, recalling the deeds of the great Pharaoh Ahmose who used barges to drive the Hyksos from the Delta. I revelled in such occasions. Nefertiti would often hold my hand, clutch my arm or whisper in my ear. She was not embarrassed about describing this to Akhenaten, remarking ‘how she and Mahu had been here or there, seen this or done that’.

About fourteen months after her arrival, in the Season of Peret, I suffered from stomach pains. Nefertiti learned about this and sought me out. I was surprised because, in the woods beyond the Residence I had found a small grove, a private place where I would go by myself with a jug of wine and some food to sit and think. I’d recall Dedi and her kindness, my days with Aunt Isithia, and I’d wonder why my father had been so cold. I tried to imagine my mother and, time and again, I would reflect on what Ay had told me. I’d go back along the years: my experience in the Kap, my friendship with Sobeck. Above all, I’d often wonder where the path I was treading would lead. At the time all seemed calm and quiet; Akhenaten and his wife, the ever-present Ay, the feeling of watchful calmness. Yet I also felt as if we were being prepared — but for what?

On that particular day the cramps in my belly were so harsh and painful I was glad to be alone. I took no food or wine but sat against the tree enjoying the green coolness of the glade. I heard a sound and looked up. Nefertiti stood there, a small basket in one hand, a cushion under her arm. She was dressed in a gauze-like robe, an embroidered sash round her slender waist. Usually she would have her hair bound or tied up. Now it was parted down the middle, tumbling freely to her shoulders. She wore no jewellery except for a silver Aten on a gold chain round her neck.

‘My lady.’

Before I could scramble to my feet, she placed the cushion on the ground and knelt before me.

‘Mahu, I understand you are ill.’ She gazed sadly at me. ‘Why didn’t you see me?’

‘I …’

‘Were you embarrassed?’ She must have noticed my cheeks flush.

I rubbed my stomach. ‘It will go soon enough. Must be something I ate.’

She opened the basket, took out a cup, poured in a few drops of liquid and handed it to me. I sniffed at the rim.

‘Juniper berries?’ I asked. Again I sniffed, this time more playfully. ‘And crushed almonds?’

‘And something else,’ she smiled. ‘Mahu, drink. It will calm the pains.’

I did so. No more than a mouthful, bittersweet to the taste, before those soft fingers took the cup from my hand. Nefertiti sat and watched.

‘Do you have such pains often?’

‘No, most glorious physician,’ I teased. ‘In fact, I am truly a baboon. I am very rarely ill.’

‘Aren’t you?’ She moved the basket so as to rest her hand just below my knee. ‘There are illnesses and illnesses, Mahu.’

‘My lady?’

‘Those of the soul,’ she retorted. ‘Why do you come here, Mahu?’

‘I thought I’d be alone. I thought no one could find me, so how did you?’

Nefertiti smiled, moving her head slightly from side to side.

‘I have a care for you, Mahu. I want to know where you go. The Beloved has told me about your bravery in the Kushite attack. How you have helped him,’ her voice grew hard, ‘with the traitors within.’

‘I am my master’s servant,’ I replied, reciting the diplomatic courtesy. ‘A mere footstool under his feet.’

She dug her nails into my leg until I winced.

‘If the Beloved heard that, he’d be angry. You are his friend, Mahu, his brother.’

‘He already has a brother.’

‘No, Mahu, he has a keeper. A young man who feels guilty about him.’

‘Could you not help the Crown Prince Tuthmosis?’ The words came spilling out before I could stop them.

‘Help?’ she queried. ‘How could I be of help to the Crown Prince?’

‘He has a racking cough.’

‘Dust,’ Nefertiti replied. ‘Our fates, Mahu, are written on the palm of God’s hand. What will be will be.’

‘You don’t believe that,’ I accused. ‘Neither you nor your father believe that.’

Nefertiti’s eyes were no longer sparkling, but cold, vigilant. I thought I had gone too far, given insult. She moved the basket and made herself more comfortable.

‘No, you are right.’ She paused, as if distracted by the cry of the birds. ‘Is that a hawk?’

‘No, my lady, a heron hunting over the river.’

‘No, Mahu,’ she continued. ‘Our fates are written on the palm of God’s hand but they are also written on our own. We do have a part to play. The Crown Prince Tuthmosis,’ she shrugged prettily, ‘he has his own physicians. If he asks for my help …’ She let the words hang. ‘Are you lonely, Mahu? Is that your sickness?’

I couldn’t stop myself. I began to tell her, haltingly at first, about my days with Aunt Isithia and my studies in the Kap. I am sure she knew this already but she wanted to hear it from my own lips. She seemed genuinely interested. Now and again she asked a question, particularly about my colleagues: Horemheb, Rameses, the friendship between Maya and Sobeck. I enjoyed it, sitting there in the silence, the Beautiful One before me. I was fully aware of her scent, her touch, her look: her very presence seemed like a cloud around me cutting me off from the rest of the world. I thought she would go but she stayed, telling me further details about her life. How she had a sister, Mutnodjmet, who loved pet baboons and dwarves.

‘You should introduce her to Horemheb,’ I teased. ‘They would have something in common.’

‘Perhaps I will. Tell me, how is your stomach now?’

Only then did I become aware of how the discomfort had completely disappeared. I felt calmer, more refreshed.

‘Have you ever flown, Mahu?’

I stared speechless.

‘Have you ever wished to fly like a bird?’ Nefertiti’s face was serious. ‘Or have you ever wished to feel the very essence of things?’

I recalled different dreams, the sensation of floating, of how I had once felt like a bird above the Nile, watching the boats, barges and punts below.

‘In my dreams,’ I agreed, ‘or when the wine has been drunk.’

‘And have you ever loved, Mahu?’

‘Once,’ I replied.

Again the sad gaze. ‘And what happened?’

‘Nothing,’ I replied, embarrassed and confused.

She opened the basket and took out a clay jug, modelled in the form of a poppy turned upside down.

‘From the Islands far out in the Great Green,’ Nefertiti explained, ‘a fragrant drink. Come, Mahu, don’t be suspicious. It will soothe your belly, your heart and your soul.’

She emptied this potion into the cup and I drank it greedily. I would have done anything she said. The drink was almost tasteless except for a slight sweetness. Nefertiti sat watching me all the time: her face seemed more beautiful, if that was possible, her eyes larger. She seemed to be closer, her breath upon my face. I was also aware of how the glade had changed. The trees took on a life of their own, the branches stretching down to caress me, the small wild flowers changing in colour, growing and receding as if the days and seasons had speeded up: their entire growth, flowering and dying caught in one exquisite moment. The sweetest music filled my ear. I felt so happy, I didn’t want to break from the moment. Memories came and went. Sobeck smiling down at me. My master leaning across the table and feeding me. The temple girls I had lain with were there, moving against a curtain of brilliant colour and, above all, Nefertiti. She was beside me, arms around me, her robes of glory slipping down her shoulder, her hands on my chest, moving down to my groin, the most delicious sensation of pleasure. We embraced. I could feel her cloying sweetness, her body sinuous, gorgeous in touch and smell. She was sitting astride me, hands on my chest, her beautiful face framed by hair which seemed to glow like fire, those blue eyes like sapphires catching the sun. I heard her voice deeper and sweeter. Other people were there. Ay kneeling beside us, also sharing her embrace. I was being lifted up, going towards the sky, which changed in colour from dark blue to a fiery red, dominated by the sign of the Aten. Then I was falling, dropping gently into a velvet darkness.

When I awoke I was alone. The sun was beginning to dip, the day was drawing on. I was lying on the grass, the pillow Nefertiti had brought me beneath my head. I recalled the dream and scrambled to my feet but the glade was empty, silent except for the cooing of a pigeon and a faint rustling in the undergrowth. I felt tired but refreshed. I glanced down. My robe was tied, the sandals I had left beneath the trees undisturbed. No sign of Nefertiti, no trace she had even been there. I sniffed my hands and arms, smelled nothing but my own sweat and the fragrance of sweet oil. For a while I just stood trying to recall what had happened. Nefertiti had given me a potion. Poppy seed? Something to relax, to make me sleep. And yet those dreams … I clutched the cushion and walked back to my quarters.

I left the cushion in my chamber and went down to the hall of audience. Nefertiti and Ay were seated at the far end, heads close together, discussing something in low voices. Both raised their head at my approach. Nefertiti now had her hair dressed, caught up in a beautiful pearl-edged net, an embroidered shawl across her shoulders.

‘Why, Mahu, so you have returned? You fell asleep, which is what I intended. Your stomach?’

‘No pain at all, my lady. Indeed I am ravenously hungry.’

‘And you slept well?’

‘I dreamed,’ I replied.

‘We all dream dreams, Mahu. They can point us to the way things should be.’ She held my gaze like a fellow conspirator. ‘I have cooked something special,’ she added. ‘It’s best if you prepare yourself.’

A courteous, tactful dismissal. I bowed and withdrew. In my own chamber I stripped and washed, examining my body carefully for any cut or mark, any trace of what had happened out in the glade. I felt my crotch, took my hand away and sniffed at my fingers, and I caught it, something I had never anointed myself with: the smell of the acacia plant, the juice used by temple girls to lower the potency of a man’s seed.