An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 10

‘Of course our Prince was magnificent.’ Ay bit into a succulent piece of spiced meat. He smiled wonderingly to himself, relishing both the memory and the food. We were sitting out at the Nose of the Gazelle, a craggy promontory overlooking the Nile, Ay, myself, Snefru and the scribe Ineti. A splendid day! Down by the waterside fowlers were busy. They’d spread their nets over a collapsible frame and placed it in clear water between clumps of reeds. The frame was fixed by stakes driven into the mud, then the hunters lurked behind a bush, ropes in their hands, ready to close the net trap on its hinges. The lure was baited with juicy crumbs and seeds. The birds came clustering in, fighting and squabbling over the bait. A fowler appeared, startling the birds; he shouted an order and the net snapped closed, trapping the birds inside. For a while all was confusion. The nets bulged as the birds, packed together, fought vainly to escape. Once they were exhausted the fowlers opened the net, quickly removing the young whilst they slaughtered the rest, necks were wrung, heads chopped off, blood drawn and feathers plucked, then the birds were tossed into pots of salted water.

‘Our Prince,’ I observed, ‘was meant to be trapped but he escaped the net of the fowlers.’

The smell of blood and salt wafted towards us. We sat in a semi-circle around the napkins opened to reveal spiced goose, fresh bread and sliced fruit. Our clay goblets brimmed with the best wine, poured by Ay himself, who had arranged the outing after our return from Karnak. Snefru seemed intent on the fowler, whispering under his breath the different types of bird caught: wild goose, lapwings, sparrows, green-ribbed ducks, grey doves with black collars, quail, hoopoes, red-back shrikes and pigeons.

‘They should be careful.’ Ay pointed to the reedfilled pools along the riverside. ‘Eels, pike and lampreys thrive there and, where they do, the crocodiles gather.’

Snefru refused to meet my eye as he began again to list the different fish which could be caught as if, by simple repetition, he could allay the tension and fear. Despite the meat and wine, that glorious, sunfilled afternoon, Ineti sat cradling his cup, gaze unwavering: if they could, his ugly juglike ears would have flapped because Ay was on the verge of treason. I bit into the fruit and bread and wondered where Ay was leading. Akhenaten had stayed behind with Nefertiti. In fact, he had been constantly with her since our return. No banquets, no feasts, just an ominous silence. Nefertiti had been as angry as a raging cat. She’d clawed my face, twisted my cheek: her beauty made her anger all the more terrifying.

‘My Beloved was baited,’ she snapped. ‘Taken like some tame goose to be paraded before the people. What was he meant to do? Stumble and fall? Either physically or in his words?’

‘Excellency,’ I protested, ‘your Beloved, my master, excelled himself.’

‘He shouldn’t have sung the hymn to the Aten,’ she retorted.

Ay disagreed. When Akhenaten joined them, I was dismissed so they could continue their quarrel in private.

Ay drained his wine and pointed to the hosts of birds flying above the marshes.

‘They remind me of those crows, the ones which flew over the Temple of Amun. A clever trick, that! The shaven heads undoubtedly caught them, starved them, then had them released as soon as we entered the central court. The crows would be noisy, raucous and eager to fly under the sun. Birdseed was scattered round that statue, strewn on the ground, to draw them down. Yet our Prince proved to be master of the occasion.’

Snefru’s scarred face was now all alarmed.

‘And what a speech our young Prince made,’ Ay continued. ‘Such wit, such tact. The shaven heads of Amun must be seething with rage. Ah well.’ He sighed and refilled our goblets. ‘The Magnificent One’s grand design faltered and was replaced with ours.’ He breathed in. ‘It’s good to be here. I love the smell of the river, the sweet and the sour, the ripeness and the dross, the rotting vegetation. Life and death, eh? I hope Shishnak rots in his temple.’

Ineti coughed; his face was ashen, eyes full of fear at what he was hearing.

‘One day,’ Ay murmured, ‘the Aten, the Unseen, Ever-seeing God will come into his own and be worshipped everywhere. The clever tricks of Amun, the charades in his temple, will be over. I’d love to go into the Holy of Holies.’ Ay chattered as if he was talking to himself. ‘They pick up this ridiculous statue on its so-called sacred barque and Pharaoh asks it a question. If the barque moves forwards the answer is Yes. If No, it goes back. I mean,’ he laughed, ‘it’s carried by the shaven heads! They will give Pharaoh the answer he wants. But, of course, he is growing stupid, isn’t he?’

Snefru moaned. I felt a chill of fear. Ay was now staring at Ineti.

‘You can’t believe those juglike ears can you, Master Scribe? Are you taking careful note of what I have said?’ Ay leaned forward. ‘Are you going to run back to your masters in Thebes and tell them about the treason you have heard? Well, you won’t be running anywhere. Ineti, the wine you have drunk is poisoned. You can’t taste it. It contains a special potion distilled by my daughter: snake venom mingled with a few deadly powders.’

Snefru jumped to his feet, throwing his cup away.

‘Oh, not yours,’ Ay snapped, his eyes never leaving Ineti, ‘just the scribe’s.’

Ineti tried to move but he couldn’t. His sallow face had turned grey, eyes large in his face, a strange colour about his lips. White froth bubbled at the corners of his mouth.

‘The symptoms are quite swift. Death does not take long. You can’t move, can you, Ineti?’

The scribe sat as if carved out of stone; only the throbbing in a vein in his neck showed that the death struggle had begun. It was eerie, frightening, blotting out any other image: the cry of the birds, the faint shouts of the fowlers, the breeze picking up along the river, the buzz of bees, the incessant whirl of the myriad insects. I put my goblet down. Ay stretched across and touched Ineti’s face. The scribe was now fighting for breath like a man whose lungs have filled with water. The sounds from his mouth grew more hideous; he was straining and gagging as if he was going to be sick, eyes rolling back in his head. At last, he collapsed to one side, face hitting the sharp rocky ground so hard that flecks of blood appeared, then he lay still.

‘Why?’ Snefru murmured.

Ay grabbed dirt from the ground, and threw it over Ineti’s corpse, then picked up his goblet and toasted the river.

‘Get back.’ He recited a spell from The Book of the Dead. ‘Retreat! Get back, you dangerous one! Do not come against me! Do not live by my magic! Get back, you crocodile from the East! The destination of you is in my belly. May you live in fiery darkness forever. Well, Snefru,’ he rubbed his hands together and pointed further along to a clump of bushes. ‘Drag the corpse over there. No one will see it.’

Snefru, however, was already on his feet looking round.

‘Horemheb and Rameses will send spies.’

‘I doubt it,’ Ay murmured. ‘It’s the Prince they watch and my daughter. Even if they do find out, we’ll all take an oath, won’t we? Ineti must have eaten something which disagreed with him.’ He laughed merrily. ‘Go on, Snefru, drag the corpse into the bushes. Cut deep into his chest, pluck out his heart and throw it away for the birds and jackals to feast on. Cursed in life, Ineti will be cursed in death. His Ka can wander the cold arid halls of the Underworld. Let him never know peace. Go on, man!’

Ay dug into the food basket, pulled out a long knife and thrust it into Snefru’s hand.

‘Cut out his heart. As you do so, recite a curse! Go on now!’

Snefru grasped the knife and pulled Ineti’s corpse away as if it was a bucket of filthy rubbish. He dragged it across the ground, keeping low so the fowlers from the riverside could not see him. The scribe’s sandalled feet scraped the ground, arms and legs jerking like those of a broken doll.

‘Well, Snefru’s got his work cut out!’ Ay laughed at the pun.

I looked towards the river. The fowlers were now moving away. Like Ay, they were happy at a good day’s hunting.

‘He was the assassin, Mahu.’

Ay filled my cup, grinned at my uncertainty and exchanged his cup for mine. His grin widened as I changed them back.

‘Trust me, Mahu! Trust our master! Ineti was an assassin, a spy. We all know that. Like a viper hidden under a rock he was waiting for his moment. You don’t mourn him, do you?’

‘I don’t give him a second thought.’

‘Good! I used to take Ineti down to the markets in Thebes to buy provisions. He wasn’t a very good spy. He’d always wander off down the same street and enter a beer-shop where he’d give the owner a small scroll of papyrus. I persuaded the owner to give it to me. Well, the last scroll at least. I cut the rogue’s dirty throat just in case.’

‘And the papyrus?’

‘Oh, it told Ineti’s master, whoever he is, what I did, where I went, no more than a hint that if I was to die, perhaps it could be some sudden city accident or a fight at a winebooth. Now, that’s not the place for me to die, is it, Mahu? But I didn’t just kill Ineti for that.’

He picked up a piece of well-cooked goose and bit into it carefully. ‘You saw what happened at Karnak. We are at war, Mahu! In war you strike as much terror into the hearts of your opponent as you can. Oh, our enemies will realise we killed Ineti but they won’t be able to prove it. They’ll never find his corpse. Snefru will come back after dark and toss it into a crocodile pool. We are sending a message, Mahu. We are as ruthless as they are.’

‘Who are they?’

‘To be perfectly honest, boy, I don’t know.’

‘I am not your boy.’

‘No you are not, Mahu, you’re my scholar. Anyway, this is the way things are done. They attack us, we attack back.’

‘They will seek revenge for Ineti’s death.’

‘Let them and they’ll pay a price, but before they do, they’ll think carefully.’

‘Who do you think they are?’

‘Everybody, Mahu! The Crown Prince, the Divine One, Shishnak, High Priest of Amun, Rahimere the Mayor of Thebes. Either one, two or all of them. You have been involved in a battle. The enemy deploy, hidden by a screen of dust or a rise in the ground. You have to wait, spy out their true strength, let them show their standards. The same applies here.’ He paused.

Snefru’s grunts as he hacked at Ineti’s body carried clearly back to us.

‘Wash your hands!’ Ay shouted. He paused, ears straining. I caught the words of the curse Snefru was chanting as he cut out Ineti’s heart.

‘Can we trust Snefru?’

‘Oh yes. Especially now.’ Ay wiped the sweat from his forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘I once told Snefru how Ineti worked for the courts. He was a Scribe of Wounds, supervising the mutilations carried out against convicted criminals. Snefru may be surprised by the speed of Ineti’s death, but I suspect he’s enjoying his work.’

When Snefru came out of the bushes he was dressed only in a white kilt; his stomach, chest, hands and arms were covered in blood.

‘Is it done?’

‘The birds already feast on his heart.’ Snefru’s face broke into a smile.

Ay glanced down at the river. ‘And the fowlers have gone. Snefru, go down there and wash.’

We watched him go. Snefru cleaned himself quickly, stripping naked, staying on the edge of the river, fearful of what the smell of blood might arouse. Ay repacked the baskets except for Ineti’s cup which he flung down the rocks and, with Snefru trailing behind us, we returned to the Palace of the Aten. Akhenaten and Nefertiti were in the garden sitting beneath the outstretched branches of a sycamore tree fashioning a floral collarette of flowers. They both looked up as we approached; Akhenaten’s face brooding, his dark eyes watchful, Nefertiti as serene as any well-fed cat.

‘It is done,’ Ay declared.

‘Good!’ Nefertiti murmured. ‘Now, my Beloved, never put blue and green so close.’ She glanced up and smiled. ‘Mahu, we have to pack. Queen Tiye has sent us a message. An imperial barge will be here for us in two days.’

Ay took me by the arm and we withdrew.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘To the birthplace of the Aten,’ he replied. ‘Tell Snefru to select ten of his best men. Have provisions ready to take down to the quayside.’

Two days later the Queen’s barge arrived: a splendid ship with jutting prow and stern, both carved in the shape of a snarling golden lioness. The rest of the imperial barge was a glittering blue, black and red with the wadjet eye on each side of the prow, and lunging, lifelike cobras beneath the stern. Elaborately painted kiosks stood on either end, with a doubled roofed deckhouse in the middle; this was painted a dark blue with a golden Horus head on each side. A huge blue and white mast stretched up to the sky, its great sail reefed.

Of course the arrival of the Dazzling Aten caused consternation amongst the officers of the Sacred Band who had not been warned of its coming. Horemheb and Rameses came hurrying up to the house, half-dressed in ceremonial armour, and demanded to see the Prince. Ay met them in the entrance portico and insisted on serving cool beer and slices of rich walnut cake. Horemheb and Rameses had no choice but to observe the courtesies. They squatted on the cushions, nibbled some of the cake and sipped at the beer.

‘Is the Prince on board?’ Rameses asked.

‘No,’ Ay replied.

‘Why is it here?’

‘We are going on a journey.’

Horemheb opened his mouth to ask at whose command but Rameses nudged him.

‘We are not prisoners,’ Ay continued evenly. ‘Our master is a Prince of the Blood. He may come and go where he wishes.’

‘Where are you going?’ Rameses demanded.

‘Why, Captain, a pleasure cruise along the river. The weather is beautiful. The Nile runs thick and fast. Flowers and trees bloom. We may do some hunting amongst the papyrus groves or even out in the Eastern or Western Desert.’

‘We have to accompany you.’

‘Why?’

‘Orders,’ Horemheb retorted. ‘The Prince, of course, is not a prisoner, but he is the beloved son of the Divine One.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Ay interrupted sarcastically.

‘Our commission,’ Rameses’ voice was strident, ‘our commission is to defend and protect the Prince! Where the Dazzling Aten goes we will follow.’

‘Then, my dear soldier, you had best go back into Thebes and talk to the Chief Scribe of the Marines. You have a war-barge, you’ll need provisions. We can’t possibly feed you.’

‘Our chariots?’ Rameses complained.

‘Your chariots are your concern,’ Ay shrugged. ‘They will have to be left here.’

‘There’s another matter.’ Rameses’ voice became more measured. ‘The scribe you reported missing, Ineti? We found some bones, the flesh picked clean, down near the shallows.’

‘Poor Ineti.’ Ay shook his head. ‘I told him not to go along the river. However, some people can’t be told, can they?’ He got to his feet and brushed the crumbs from his robe. ‘And now we are busy. We are leaving tomorrow evening.’

Horemheb and Rameses hurried off. For a while all was confusion in the small military camp which lay between ourselves and the quayside. However, by the time we left, Horemheb and Rameses were organised. A powerful, black-painted war-barge, with hollowed, broad hull, slipped in behind ours: it was manned by a small squadron of marines and joined by Horemheb and Rameses and several of their company. We left just before darkness, moving out into midriver, Ay himself leading the paean of praise as the oarsmen bent and pulled back. Our craft leaped forward in a burst of speed, a well-planned taunt for Horemheb and Rameses who hastily followed in pursuit.

Akhenaten and Nefertiti occupied the central cabin, Ay the kiosk on the stern. I stayed with the crew wrapped in warm blankets, close enough to the glowing braziers to receive some warmth as well as a little protection against the night flies. We made good progress, now and again calling into some small village to fill water jars or barter for supplies. Nefertiti and her Beloved acted like a royal couple. During the day the sides of the cabin were taken down and they would sit under the awning, fan-bearers about them, enjoying the gorgeous pageant of colours on either bank: the bright green maize, the softish yellow hue of oats, the blazing gold of corn. They’d comment on the fishing smacks and other craft plying the river: boats packed full with mercenaries moving down to the forts, barges of supplies — wine, beer, cedarwood, bronze and copper as well as livestock. As the day drew on, we would comment on the shifting colours of the sands and marshlands on either bank as they turned from red-gold to deep purple.

On the second night out Nefertiti graciously invited Horemheb and Rameses to a supper on the imperial barge. Horemheb brought his two new dwarves; they looked like identical twins with their bald heads, bushy beards and small thickset bodies. Rameses had a baby giraffe which had followed the hunters after they had killed its mother the previous evening; it was the only time I ever saw him show affection to anything or anyone except Horemheb. A pity he was so clumsy; the next day the giraffe fell overboard and drowned. Anyway, that was a beautiful evening, the river supplying its own entertainment. A barge taking pilgrims from the shrine of Hathor, Lady of Drunkenness, came alongside ours. The men and women on board were drunk, merry and loud, unable to discern whom they were shouting at or who the women flirted with by baring their breasts or lifting their skirts.

Horemheb and Rameses were not the ideal guests; they acted in a surly manner throughout and not even the pilgrims of Hathor could raise a smile. They glowered at me and seized this opportunity to take me aside and remonstrate about what had happened.

‘I am not your spy,’ I protested.

‘I just wish you hadn’t left so quickly,’ Rameses whined.

We were standing in the stern of the ship warming our hands over a small dish of glowing charcoal, carefully protected in its copper bucket. I noticed Rameses’ hand was shaking slightly and the truth dawned on me.

‘Of course.’ I leaned over and tapped him on the face like he used to do to me in the Kap. ‘You don’t like water, do you, Rameses?’

‘I become sick,’ he confessed, not lifting his head. ‘I asked that idle bastard Pentju if he could give me something.’

‘Never mind,’ I soothed. ‘I am sure the journey won’t be long!’

We passed cities and towns but no orders were issued to put in at Abydos, the holy city of Osiris, or even Akhmin, where Tiye and Ay had family and kin. It was as if they did not wish to converse or be tainted by anything. We moved majestically up the Nile, a journey of over two hundred miles: restful days, peaceful nights. No one ever mentioned where we were going or the reason for our journey. Akhenaten and Nefertiti were at peace. On one occasion, just after sunset, they organised some of the best voices amongst the marines to sing the most beautiful haunting hymn which stirred the heart and provoked bittersweet memories. A song about a lost time, a dazzling time, free from the taint of death or sickness. Akhenaten and Nefertiti sang together, hands clasped, voices ringing out across the water. Fishermen on their boats plying their nets before darkness fell, stopped to listen. The chorus was taken up by the deep-throated marines, a rhythmic chant. Even now, many years later, at dusk, as the sun sets, I close my eyes and recall that singing.

One afternoon about eight days after we’d left Thebes, Akhenaten fell strangely quiet, and flanked by Nefertiti and Ay, stood by the taffrail staring out at the eastern bank of the Nile. I stood behind him and watched as the lush vegetation and palm trees gave way to a stretch of desert land. Ay shouted an order. The sails were furled, the rowers were told to tread water. Slightly behind us the war-galley also slowed. Akhenaten and Nefertiti never moved. They stood, fascinated by a sunbaked cove of desert, about eight miles broad which stretched from the Nile to towering limestone cliffs dominated by two soaring crags with a half-moon-shaped cleft between. This was the Holy Ground! It was the first time I saw it: lonely, washed by the Nile and dominated by those brooding cliffs which changed in colour as they caught and reflected the setting sun. An empty place with its own aura: the more I stared, the more it seemed to drift across the water towards me, drawing me into its haunting empty loneliness.

Late in the afternoon we prepared to go ashore, our barge threading its way through the sandbanks where water melons grew. Ay had a quiet word with the Captain. Only he, Akhenaten, Nefertiti and myself were to disembark. Once we had, the Prince knelt and nosed the ground as if adoring the two distant peaks. Nefertiti and Ay followed suit whilst I stood staring around, trying to shake off my wariness. I wanted some sound to break the stillness. Akhenaten whispered a prayer, rose and walked across that sacred soil with the sun slipping behind us sending shadows racing along the cove and up those limestone cliffs. The evening breeze whipped our faces like some muffled voice trying to communicate a secret. My sandals crunched on the hard ground. I knelt down and sifted amongst the stones, picking up the sea shells like pieces of fine glass or alabaster. These lay strewn amongst the pebbles and glinted in the light of the setting sun.

‘Once,’ Akhenaten murmured, staring down at the shells I held in my hand, ‘the Great Green covered this land until my Father drove it back to its boundaries.’

I squinted up. Akhenaten was gazing hungrily at the cleft between the two crags.

‘Once my Father walked here in the cool of the evening, enjoying its lush greens, rejoicing in the company of the Sons of Men — that was his delight.’ He blinked and squatted down beside me, eyes bright with excitement. ‘That was in the Dazzling Time, Mahu, when the Sons of Men walked with God and all was harmony, before the Thief of the Underworld made his presence felt. Can’t you feel them, Mahu, the ghosts of the Dazzling Ones all about us? The breeze carries their faded words and hymns.’

He tapped the soil. ‘The roots still lie here, embedded deep. The desert will bloom and the jonquil flourish amongst the rocks. Once our vision is realised, my Father will, once again, walk amongst men.’

I stared disbelievingly at him, but he never noticed my mood.

I knew nothing about his strange theology. Even when I reflected on what Tiye had told me, what did it amount to? The worship of an Unseen God who manifested his power in the symbol of the Sun Disc? Akhenaten plucked up some sand, pebbles and shells, letting them fall through his fingers. He rose and, with Nefertiti beside him, walked further inland. The shouts from the war-barge carried ashore. Akhenaten abruptly turned and went striding back, his walking cane rapping on the ground, robes fluttering about him, long arms gesticulating.

‘Go back!’ he shouted. ‘Stay on board! Do not pollute this holy ground for my Father has blessed me. He has blessed me and will bless me again.’ He climbed onto a boulder, his body ungainly-looking against the darkening sky, face bathed in the light of the setting sun.

‘Go away,’ he repeated. ‘Do not trespass on holy ground.’

Ay went down to the riverside and repeated the orders not to land, his voice carrying like a herald across the water. The consternation on the war-barge was audible but Ay was insistent. Only a few servants from the Dazzling Aten came ashore. They erected pavilions and tents, gathered brushwood and lit a fire, bringing supplies of meat, wine and bread. The sun set and the plain darkened, broken only by the light from our campfire. Akhenaten sat, arms linked with Nefertiti, eyes half-closed as if drinking in the very smell, taste and sounds of this place. They retired early. Ay and myself shared a smaller pavilion. I lay listening to Akhenaten and Nefertiti singing, followed by the clink of cups and the sound of their lovemaking before I drifted into sleep.

Akhenaten woke us long before dawn. I felt cold. Outside the air was chilly. Only a faint burst of light beyond the mountain range showed day was imminent. Akhenaten acted like an excited child, pacing up and down as Ay and Nefertiti laid out blankets and cushions. At last Akhenaten knelt down, Ay and Nefertiti on his left and right. I crouched on my cushion. Nefertiti rose, returned to her pavilion and brought out three glowing bowls of incense. She placed one in front of Ay, Akhenaten and herself. The incense smelt bittersweet in the morning air. The glow in the East strengthened as if a ball of fire was about to surface behind the dark mass of the mountains. A bird flew overhead, its song piercing the freezing air. The land fell silent. Stars disappeared and the Sun Disc appeared directly between the two peaks at the centre of the cleft; rising with all the majesty of dawn, shattering the darkness, lighting the mountains, its rays spreading over the plain as if hungry to reach the river. Akhenaten moaned in ecstasy, head going backwards and forwards. He intoned:

Akhenaten’s voice thrilled stronger and stronger like a trumpet blast shattering the silence, heard even by our companions on the barges.

‘I shall do a beautiful thing for you!’ Akhenaten continued.

Akhenaten bowed, followed by Nefertiti and Ay, pressing their heads against the ground. The Sun Disc broke free, clear of the mountains, and rose against the sky, transforming the earth and the air in a blaze of light and glory. Then Akhenaten stood, a beatific smile on his face.

‘Go down to the waterside, Mahu,’ he urged. ‘Tell the others they can now come ashore.’

I did so. The crew of the Dazzling Aten, followed by Horemheb, Rameses and their soldiers clambered ashore. My two companions were angry but their anger was tinged with a sharp curiosity. They had witnessed the drama of the sunrise and bothered me with questions. Why was this place sacred?

‘I don’t know,’ I told them.

‘Are you sure?’ Rameses persisted. ‘There must be few places in the Eastern Desert where the sun rises so dramatically.’

I shook my head and walked away.

‘They are curious, aren’t they?’ Ay came up, still hunched against the cold, a shawl across his shoulders.

‘Never mind them,’ I snapped. ‘I’m curious.’

‘This is a sacred place.’ Ay stared at me from under heavy-lidded eyes.

‘I know that. I’m not a child — the sunrise is most dramatic.’

‘When our people first came to Egypt,’ Ay stroked his reddish hair, ‘they assembled here and built their altars to the Unseen God.’

‘Why here?’

‘Because, according to legend, this was once the dazzling garden, the place where God and Man met.’

‘And now it’s just a desert,’ I replied.

‘Look for yourself, Mahu.’

I did so, wandering across the plain, and soon realised that its aridity was only superficial. In clefts and gullies, I discovered underground water streams and untapped wells, their presence only visible in the quickly drying water as the day progressed. Behind me servants were carrying up stores and setting up tents. Hunters were sent out to bring fresh meat; two of these returned at a run shouting and waving their arms.

Horemheb was sitting by the campfire deep in conversation with the two dwarves. Rameses was testing water from one of the barrels. Akhenaten and Nefertiti had withdrawn to their pavilion. Ay was aboard the Dazzling Aten. The way the hunters hastened towards us proclaimed that something extraordinary had happened. If it was an attack by Desert Wanderers and Sand Dwellers they would have raised the alarm. These two stopped, fighting for breath, bodies drenched in sweat.

‘You must come,’ they gasped, pointing back towards the rocky escarpment, ravines and gullies which marked the beginning of the limestone cliffs. ‘You must come silently.’

Ay came ashore, scratching his jaw. Akhenaten and Nefertiti left their pavilion, wrapping their robes about them. Horemheb had already slung his bow, Rameses was shouting for the marines.

‘It’s not like that,’ one of the hunters said.

‘Well, what is it?’ Ay demanded.

‘No, I cannot describe it,’ the other replied. ‘Master, you must come!’

Akhenaten and Nefertiti put on their sandals. Horemheb and Rameses, followed by Ay and myself, left the camp with the hunters. The day was blazing hot, and a stiff breeze from the river wafted gusts of sand and dirt, toasting our eyes and coating our lips. By the time we had reached the line of boulders, all of us were drenched in sweat. The hunters gestured to us to be silent as we climbed the shale, sandalled feet slipping. We reached the top, more boulders; the ground fell away between two rocky outcrops. It led to what looked like a dried-out water hollow, ringed by straggly bushes and brambles clinging to the thin soil. The hunters moved slowly. We passed the corpses of quails slain earlier. They led us up to a barrier of rock and rubble. We peered over this down to the hollow.

At first I could see nothing but then, beneath a large bramble bush, I glimpsed movement. A lioness lay there, a great tawny-skinned beast, body stretched out, tail moving, her great forepaws spread out before her. Between them lay a baby gazelle which rose, stumbling, yet it kept its feet. The gazelle moved round the lioness; it cropped at a tuft of grass, then came back and settled down as if it was the lioness’s cub. The lioness did not kill or menace it but treated it gently, nuzzling and licking it carefully. I gazed in astonishment. The lioness was a powerful beast, yet she treated that gazelle as tenderly as any cub. Great cats play with their victims, like a house cat with a mouse, but this was not the case.

We all, even Horemheb and Rameses, gazed speechlessly at the scene. Nefertiti’s face had never looked more beautiful; she was radiant, her eyes glowing. The walk and climb had made her hot — I could smell her perfume. I watched the delicious drops of sweat snake down the golden skin of her face. Akhenaten crouched as if beholding a vision. Even the cynical Ay was speechless. All the time I waited, tense, for the lioness to spring, deal that baby gazelle a killing blow or inflict a savage bite to the nape of its neck, but both animals remained content together. At one point the lioness turned, ears twitching, and glanced towards us as if she could see us and gave a threatening growl deep in her throat.

We were about to withdraw when the hunters crouching behind us hissed a warning. Further down the hollow, in the break between the two rocks, a splendidly-maned lion had emerged, walking softly, tail out. The breeze ruffled his powerful mane; muscles rippled along his body as he padded gently down the incline towards the lioness. At first she didn’t notice but then, in a rapid movement which made me jump, she sprang up and turned, belly low to the ground, ears flat, against her head, face transformed into a snarling mask. The lion came on threateningly. The lioness refused to give way, moving towards him, her whole body arched and ready for battle. The lion paused, head going from side to side. The lioness, likewise, and for a while she sat glaring at the newcomer. Then the lion threw back his head and gave a low, coughing roar. The lioness inched forward, ready to spring, while the gazelle crouched gracefully on the ground, unperturbed by the growing menace. At last the confrontation ended. The lion hurriedly backed off, tail twitching and, with as much dignity as he could muster, returned the way he came. The lioness, however, remained crouched until satisfied the threat was gone. She then drew herself up and, jaws open, emitted the most ferocious roar. Tail whisking from side to side, she glared up at the escarpment as if considering what to do with the threat which menaced her from above.

‘We must leave,’ the hunters insisted. ‘She knows of our presence and will tolerate us no further.’

The lioness returned to the baby gazelle, standing over it, licking it, gently reassuring it. Then she lifted her head, those great amber eyes glaring up at us. The hunters were now pleading.

‘We have seen enough,’ Ay whispered and we withdrew.

Akhenaten revelled in what he had seen, striding ahead with Nefertiti almost as if he had forgotten his ungainliness, swinging his cane like a soldier would a sword, one arm round her shoulders, his mouth only a few inches from her ear. Ay, however, questioned the hunters as did Horemheb and Rameses, yet this was no trickery.

‘Have you ever seen that before?’

The elder hunter, a grizzled veteran, shook his head.

‘Never, my lord,’ he replied.

‘You are a Kushite, aren’t you?’ Ay demanded.

‘My mother was. My father was a farmer in the Black Lands.’

‘Have you ever heard of such a story?’ Rameses insisted.

‘I have heard tales about the great cats treating a gazelle like a cub, but until this day I never believed it.’

‘Perhaps it’s true.’ The other hunter gazed round. ‘Perhaps it can be explained. The lioness may have lost her own cubs. She may even have killed the gazelle’s mother and dragged her body away. I have known the young to follow the killer which has taken its mother.’ The hunter hoisted his bow over his shoulder. ‘I forgot to bring the sand quails,’ he smiled. ‘We’ll leave them for the lioness. It was worth the price.’

Later that afternoon we left that strange deserted cove along the Nile. Akhenaten stood in the prow of our barge staring until it disappeared behind rocky outcrops and the thick hedges of palm trees. Once it had disappeared he stood, head bowed, tears trickling down his long furrowed cheeks: he grasped Nefertiti by the hand and they both returned to the cabin amidships.

The news of what we had seen soon spread amongst the crew, only increasing their curiosity about the journey and its destination. Some declared they had seen similar signs. Horemheb and Rameses looked genuinely perplexed. Ay could only shake his head.

‘Some things can be explained,’ he confided, ‘some things cannot. The Prince believes it was a sign and it’s best if we leave it at that.’

Our journey back to Thebes was uneventful. We were distracted by the different sights on both shores as well as the varied life along the river. At dawn and sunset there were the undecked fishing boats with their huge nets; fowlers in their punts, busy along the reedfilled banks. In the cool hours came the pleasure boats bright with their gilding and blue, red and yellow paints which cast vivid reflections on the surface of the shimmering water. We passed Dendera, following the river down past the desert mountain ranges giving way to wide swathes of cultivated land where palm, acacia, fig tree and sycamore thrived. Eventually we glimpsed the silver-and gold-plated tops of the pylons, obelisks, temple cornices and rooftops of Luxor, Thebes and Karnak. We made our way carefully through the different flotillas going up and down the Nile or across to the Necropolis. At last we slipped along our own quayside thronged with servants waiting to greet us.

It seemed strange to be back in the Palace of the Aten. Later that day Akhenaten and Nefertiti invited both Ay and myself to a splendid but private banquet held on the daïs behind thick gauze curtains at the end of the hall of audience. Snefru kept guard and brought the food himself: plates of freshly cooked meat and bread, dishes of vegetables, small pots of sauce, a welcome relief from the hardened bread and dry salted flesh we had eaten on board during most of our journey.

Akhenaten was fascinated by what we had seen. Time and again he returned to the lioness and the gazelle as a sign from his Father that all was well and all would be well. He began to question Ay about the place itself: the building of quaysides, the exploration of wells, how canals could be dug. Akhenaten’s face became flushed, eyes bright as he talked of plans to found a new city, build temples open to the sun. I wondered if Tiye had arranged the journey to distract her son. Or was it what she and her husband intended for this rebel at the imperial court? Was Akhenaten to be banished from the Malkata and the City of the Sceptre to some lonely outpost where he could indulge his own private beliefs? Nefertiti seemed just as enthusiastic. I found it difficult to imagine a woman like herself, not to mention her father Ay, being expelled from the centre of influence and power. The meal was coming to an end when an imperial herald arrived. He was dressed in white, a gold fillet around his head, a white wand in his left hand, a scroll of papyrus in the other. Snefru brought him to the hall of audience. The man knelt before the daïs and handed over the scroll. Ay unfolded this: it bore the crest of the imperial cartouche, Pharaoh’s own seal. Ay studied the contents and looked anxiously at Akhenaten. ‘A summons from your father. Tomorrow afternoon you are to join your brother, the Crown Prince Tuthmosis, in the Holy of Holies in the Temple of Amun-Ra at Karnak.’

All pleasure faded from Akhenaten’s face. ‘The vigil,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘We are to spend four days before the tabernacle of that hideous demon and pledge our loyalty to the God of Thebes.’ He sat, head back against the wall, eyes glaring, his strange chest rising and falling as if he had been running fast.

Ay ordered the herald to withdraw. Akhenaten’s face grew ghastly, liverish, eyes starting in his head, lips moving but no sound, not a word. Nefertiti tried to calm him but he brushed her hand away. He made to rise but slumped back. He grasped his cane and with one sweep sent the platters and plates, cups and goblets, alabaster oil jars flying from the tables. He rose to a half-crouch, the cane rising and falling, smashing into the acacia wood, cutting deep as if it was a sword, whilst the anger raged in his face; his lips white-flecked, eyes popping, chest heaving. The oiled, perfumed wig he wore became dislodged. Akhenaten threw it at me and, with both hands, smashed the cane up and down, curses tumbling from his lips. Ay stood and watched. Nefertiti flattened herself against the wall, fearful and watchful. At last Akhenaten let go of the cane and, turning sideways, placed his head in his wife’s lap, drawing his knees up like a child, fingers going to his mouth. Nefertiti stroked the side of his face, talking in a language I could not understand, soft gentle words to match the rhythmic movement of her hands. She glanced at Ay and gestured with her head. Ay left the hall and returned, a small goblet of wine in his hands. Snefru still stood by the doorway, transfixed by what he had seen. Ay handed the wine over to Nefertiti who coaxed her husband to drink, making him sit up, holding the cup for him until he grasped it with two hands, drinking greedily, face now slack, a terrifying look in his eyes.

‘Leave,’ Ay whispered to me. ‘Leave and never repeat what you have seen. Take Snefru with you.’

I did so at once, pushing Snefru out into the cold night air, closing the doors behind me.

‘What was that?’ Snefru asked.

‘The rage of a god,’ I replied.

Snefru was about to walk away when he came back. ‘Master, I apologise, but on the night you returned, a message came for you.’

‘A message?’ I asked. ‘No one sends messages to Mahu. It cannot be Aunt Isithia.’ I spread my hands. ‘Snefru, where is this message?’

‘It was brought by one of those amulet-sellers. Only a few lines: “Let’s live and love”.’ Snefru rubbed the scar where his nose had been. ‘Yes, that’s it. “Let’s live and love. Suns set and suns rise”.’ He shrugged and spread his hands.

My heart quickened. ‘Anything else?’

‘The amulet-seller said he came from the small-wine booth which stands at the mouth of the Street of Jars. Do you understand what it means, Master?’

I shook my head and walked away. Of course I did! Sobeck had returned. He was in Thebes and wished to see me.