An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 13

Dressed in one of Snefru’s garish cloaks and carrying my sealed jar in a leather pannier slung across my shoulder, I went across the Nile to the Necropolis: a journey which always reminded me that, as in the palace, life and death sat cheek by jowl. At the quayside a beggarman, squirming through the crowds, seized my wrist, going down on his knees to show his peaceful intent.

‘The jeweller,’ he whispered through sore gums, ‘his stall is closed. However, your host will welcome you at the Sign of the Ankh in the Street of the Caskets near the Basketmakers’ Quarter in the City of the Dead. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’ I tried to shake off his grip.

‘Go in peace, pilgrim,’ he smiled. He leaned forward in a gust of stale sweat and cheap oil. ‘And be careful you are not followed.’

A boatman took me across the Nile. The sun was dipping and the fishing boats were out, the men on board shouting at each other, eager to find the best stretch to catch lampreys, skit, grey mullet and the pale-backed dark-bellied batisoida which always swam upside down. Henbirds, alarmed by the noise, rustled the branches of trees and brought the papyrus groves to life with their squawking and nesting. A screech owl hunted over the mudflats. Higher up, against the blood-red sky, vultures and buzzards patrolled; when one plunged, it was the sign for others to join the feasting.

The river was so busy it was impossible to see if anyone was following me. Matters worsened when the river guards, in their war-barge, manoeuvred along the edge of the reeds and shouted at us to move away. The alarm had been raised by some fishermen still waving their pitch torches as a sign of danger. Apparently a group of harpooners in their skiffs had cornered a young hippopotamus in the shallows only to find another, a cow, ready to give birth. This, in turn, had attracted the attention of crocodiles. The bull, summoned to his mate’s distress call, also returned to enter the fray.

The harpooners had withdrawn but the hippopotami were now so agitated they were likely to attack anything which caught their attention. I used the confusion to stare across at the dappled river bright in the dying rays of the sun and the dancing torches of the fishermen. I was looking for a boat, a punt or a barge with one passenger, someone who seemed out of place, but I could detect nothing.

Having landed safely at the Quayside of the Dead with its brooding, ill-carved statue of the green-skinned Osiris, I made my way across the Place of Scavengers and into the warren of streets in the lower part of the City of the Dead. It was a sombre place, suitable only for those who wished to shelter from the law and needed the darkness to cloak their activities. Sailors and marines staggered about, beer jugs in hand. Ladies from a House of Delight drifted through them trying to entice them in a cloud of cheap perfume, clattering jewellery and sloe-eyed glances, their rouged mouths in a permanent pout. Elsewhere, beggars, scorpion men, confidence tricksters, Rhinoceri, outlaws from the Red Lands, the grotesque and the crippled rubbed shoulders with grey-robed Desert Wanderers.

The lanes and streets were arrow-thin funnels lit by the occasional blaze from an oil lamp or the dancing fire of a cresset torch. The air was bittersweet with the stench of corruption from the cheap embalmers’ shops where the corpses of the poor were over-dried in baths of natron, hung on hooks to dry, pickled, stuffed with dirty rags, then doused in cheap perfumed oil before being handed back to their relatives. Casketmakers, shabti-sellers and coffin-polishers touted for business. Women of every nation, skimpily dressed or clothed mysteriously in hoods and robes, offered their bodies for sale. Tale-tellers and minstrels offered their wares, while professional travellers shouted how they had stories for sale about a land of frozen whiteness, yellow-skinned men who lived in palaces or roaming hordes of barbarians who killed and plundered and drank from the skulls of their enemies. A sideshow in front of a shop, covered with a patched tapestry of faded animal skins, offered a chance to view a Syrian ‘strong as a ram, pleasure three women at once’. Another show invited the curious to view a woman with three breasts, a dwarf with two heads or a bird which could talk like a man. Soothsayers and fortune-tellers vied with dancing troupes to catch my attention. A gang of pimps shrieked at a group of white-garbed priests, dancing madly in the name of their foreign god, to leave them and their customers alone. Stalls and shops spilled out rubbish. Bakers and meat-sellers offered platters of freshly cooked lamb, beef, goose and fish, grilled above spluttering charcoal and spiced hot to the tongue to satisfy any taste as well as to hide any putrefaction. Such a mêlée made it impossible to see if I was being followed. I felt uneasy because I was left alone, as if protected by some invisible presence, yet I could see nothing, except for a shaggy-headed dwarf, dressed in a striped robe, who always seemed to be either beside me or in front.

I reached the Sign of the Ankh, a pleasure-house and beer-shop which catered for the casket-, coffin-and basketmakers. On that particular evening it was deserted inside, although its small courtyard was full of bully-boys in their leather kilts, baldrics and thick marching sandals, lounging round a cracked fountain. They looked up as I entered but no one rose to challenge me. The entrance to the shop was also guarded. Inside, the low-ceilinged room, reeking of sawdust and burned oil, was brightly lit. A row of barrels and baskets were stacked at one end. Sobeck sat on a pile of cushions under a shuttered window. Others of his gang stood or squatted, deliberately shrouded by the shifting shadows. Sobeck smiled as I entered, put down the puppy he was playing with and rose to greet me. His eyes, however, were still on the door.

‘You did well, my friend,’ he said, then called: ‘Was he followed?’

The dwarf replied in a guttural tongue I could not understand.

‘Apparently you were,’ Sobeck clasped my hand, ‘but we lost him.’ He sat down and gestured at the cushions piled at the base of a wooden column. I took the dagger from my sash and squatted down. A jar of beer was thrust into my hand. Sobeck cleared the platters from the small table which separated us. The puppy, unsteady on its legs, stumbled over, licked my knee, sniffed at the basket and curled up beside me. Sobeck raised his goblet in a toast. I replied but didn’t sip.

‘It’s not poisoned,’ Sobeck laughed.

He picked up my cup, took a generous sip and handed it back. He looked better than the last time; his face was not so lean, though fresh scars marked his cheeks and upper right arm. His kilt was of good quality, as was the shawl which draped his shoulders and the sandals on his feet. Rings and bracelets glittered on his fingers, wrists and arms flashed like fire. His head and face were cleanly shaved, gleaming with oil; his eyes were the same, like those of a hungry hunting cat. He kept his dagger close by.

‘You are well, Mahu, Chief of Police?’

‘I am not Ch-’

‘You soon will be. I heard your aunt laughing about it, that’s how I know.’

‘The night you visited her?’

Sobeck grinned behind his hand. He ordered dishes of catfish with plump, fresh lettuce and slices of lush pomegranate. A beggar girl served us. Sobeck took the dishes and divided the food between us.

‘Well?’ He chewed noisily. ‘What do you want?’

I finished my food, opened the basket and took out the sealed alabaster jar full of flies buzzing over a lump of honey. I placed it on the table before him. Sobeck stopped chewing. ‘Is this a gift?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘For killing your aunt?’ Sobeck pulled a face. ‘It was easy enough. She was arrogant, and thought the soldiers camped in the gardens outside her house would be protection enough. She apparently liked to be alone. Anyway, her neck snapped like a twig. Now you bring me a jar of honey and some buzzing flies?’

I opened my wallet and placed three precious stones on the table.

‘I want you to take the jar of flies to the embalmers and ask them to place it next to the head of Isithia’s corpse. She never could stand flies.’

Sobeck smiled. ‘And? There are three stones here.’

‘You are to bribe the embalmers to remove her heart and its protective scarab before they wrap the corpse in its bandages. I want my aunt’s soul to wander the Underworld.’

‘I didn’t think you believed in it?’

‘I am a calculating man, Sobeck. Just in case.’

Sobeck tapped the third diamond. ‘And?’

‘Isithia’s house will be deserted. I want it burned to the ground, it and everything in it — but do not harm the willow tree in the orchard beyond.’

‘A fire?’ Sobeck glanced up at the ceiling. ‘That will take oil, not to mention desperate men.’

I placed a fourth diamond on the table.

Sobeck swept it up in his hand. ‘You must have hated her.’

‘She made me what I am.’

‘And what are you, Mahu?’

‘As the tree is planted, so it grows.’

‘So what do you want?’ Sobeck’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘What do you really want, Mahu, friend of princes, confidant and counsellor, soon to be Chief of Police?’

For a moment he looked like the boy I used to play with in the Kap, running wild through the trees or hiding from Weni. I felt tearful but the tears didn’t come. ‘What about this Chief of Police thing?’ I asked.

‘Your aunt told me as I came up the steps. She thought I was her manservant. She kept repeating it as if savouring a joke. “My little Mahu,” she laughed. “The ugly Baboon, Chief of Police. Well, I never!”’

‘How did she know?’

‘I never stopped to ask. In fact, it was only afterwards I reflected on what she had said.’

‘You saw no letter on the table, no documents?’

‘I was there to exact my revenge, not to steal things. I’ll do that before I burn the house down.’ Sobeck pushed a piece of fish into his mouth. His eyes were no longer so hard. ‘Oh, you’ll become Chief of Police, Mahu, don’t worry about that. We are in the time of waiting, aren’t we? The old Pharaoh is dying and the Grotesque waits like a cat hiding in the bushes ready to pounce: he and his two red-haired relatives, the Akhmin gang. They are already making their presence felt.’ He leaned over and filled my cup. ‘It’s our business, Mahu, to watch things: to keep our ear close to the door and listen to the rumours and whispers. Who has been sent here? Who has been sent there? Which officer is in charge of that district? Why are certain regiments despatched upriver, and others brought closer to the city? Why is Ay so insistent on hiring mercenaries?’ He caught my surprise and smiled. ‘Oh yes, he’s supposed to be strengthening the garrison of Akhmin: the numbers have grown so large you’d think the Hyksos had returned. Sooner or later, perhaps sooner than later, Ay will appoint a certain General,’ he waved his hand, ‘the next Mayor of Thebes.’

‘And the new post?’ I added. ‘Chief of Police?’

‘That’s my clever Baboon, Mahu! Ay can’t do it all in one sweep. It’s like drawing a picture: a brush-stroke here, a brush-stroke there, not yet completed, not even formed, but the artist knows what he intends. So, Mahu, Baboon of the South, my question still stands. What do you really want? Is it power? Do you like being close to Ay and his gang?’

‘I want to be part of something,’ I replied, ‘to please and be pleased.’

‘To love and be loved?’

‘Sobeck, sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’

‘But the Princess Nefertiti does you. Is that the real reason, Mahu? Is that why you love the palace?’

‘Why are you here?’ I retorted brusquely.

‘I’ll come to that by and by. Do you know,’ Sobeck picked up the dagger and moved it from hand to hand, ‘I really do like you, Mahu, more than anyone. I’ll never forget I owe you my life. If you hadn’t sent me that message, I would have sent you one. When you are Chief of Police, you and I can do business together.’

‘You already seem to have a lot of partners.’ I gazed around at the men half-concealed in the shadows. ‘Business partners?’ I queried. ‘Where is the Ape?’

Sobeck shouted into the darkness for a basket to be brought. It was dirty and stained with blood which had seeped through the meshes. The little puppy beside me stirred so I stroked it gently. Sobeck placed the gruesome basket on the table, took off the lid and drew out the severed head with its half-closed eyes, jutting mouth and jaw, the neck of fraying black flesh. He placed it gently back. ‘The Ape or what’s left of him. He tried to betray me. You’ve heard of the Hyenas, Mahu?’

Of course I had. The Hyenas were the violent gangs who swarmed through the slums of Thebes and the squalid streets of the Necropolis. Sobeck ordered the basket to be taken away and traced the scar on his face.

‘I also owe you for the treasure you sent me. It has helped me to make a few adjustments to my life.’

‘You control the gangs?’ I asked.

‘Almost,’ he replied. ‘But by next year I will be able to say yes. I learned a lot at that prison oasis, even more on the journey back. Pharaoh has order in his kingdom, I shall have order in mine. The tomb-robbers, the pimps, the smugglers, the traders in flesh, the scorpion men, the unemployed, the mercenaries and discharged soldiers will all know their places in my little world, and if they don’t — well, they don’t deserve to be here. I’ll have my House of Silver and my troops. Whatever you ask, Mahu, from my kingdom you shall have.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘As simple as that.’

‘But you couldn’t find the man who followed me?’ I taunted.

‘No.’ Sobeck smiled thinly. ‘We still make mistakes, Mahu. It’s just like being in the House of Instruction. Learning doesn’t come like a meal on a platter. So,’ he lifted his cup again, ‘let’s toast the past and the future.’

‘Have you met Maya?’ I asked.

Sobeck shook his head. ‘He’s the only one I leave alone. I don’t know why, but one day I will renew my acquaintance. He doesn’t know I am alive.’

I didn’t answer.

‘I know all about the rest. Pentju’s in love, you know — a lady called Tenbra. He’s infatuated with her, they will be married within the year. I hope she keeps him away from the House of Delight here in the Necropolis, otherwise he will need all his medical skill to cure the ailments he’ll catch.’

‘And Horemheb and Rameses?’

‘Ah, two cheeks of the same arse! Two dirty nostrils in the same nose. My prize bully-boys. Horemheb is a puritan. He looks at a woman and immediately thinks of breeding rather than pleasure. Rameses is the one I watch. Venomous as a viper — he likes inflicting pain. Oh yes, he’s a visitor here, well-known in the House of Delight for his use of the whip, the stick and other petty cruelties. I often wonder if his old friend Horemheb knows about his private pastimes.’ Sobeck straightened his shoulders and stuck his chest out, such a clever imitation of Horemheb that I laughed.

‘Horemheb wants to be a great General, the new Ahmose.’ Sobeck breathed in. ‘He’s of peasant stock from the Delta, born of a young girl who caught the Magnificent One’s eye.’

‘He’s the Divine One’s son?’

‘Might be. Or of one of his courtiers. The Divine One,’ Sobeck’s face turned ugly, ‘could be generous with his Royal Ornaments, only that he had to give, you never took, as I found to my cost. Does he still drink the juice of the poppy?’ Sobeck scratched at his chin.

‘They say,’ he continued, chatting quickly to show off his knowledge, ‘the Magnificent One is more interested in his eldest daughter Sitamun than he is in his wife. But, one day soon, he will die. They will bury him out in that great mausoleum he has built, guarded by those Colossi of red quartzite.’ He leaned across the table. ‘Now that’s one tomb, Mahu, I intend to visit.’

‘You were talking of our companions?’

‘Meryre …’ Sobeck shook his head. ‘Such a pure priest, such a naughty boy: he loves Kushite girls, the fatter the better. He doesn’t pray so much when he’s squealing between mounds of perfumed oiled flesh.’ Sobeck rocked backwards and forwards. ‘Huy is different. Oh, he likes the ladies but it’s wealth he wants, and power! To become a Great One of Pharaoh and rise high in the tree.’

‘You know so much.’

‘Of course I do, Mahu. Where do you think these people hire servants? They come to the marketplace or the Necropolis, this young man, that young woman. These people go home to chatter and gossip. It’s surprising how many people talk as if servants don’t exist. Oh, by the way, you should tell your master to be careful. The great ones of Thebes, not to forget our shaven heads in the Temple of Amun, hate him beyond all understanding.’

‘And what do you know of the Akhmin gang?’

‘Oh, you mean God’s Father Ay and Nefertiti the Great Wife?’ Sobeck whistled through his teeth. ‘They are very close, very close indeed! Ah well.’ He picked up the diamonds he had placed beneath the cushion, took the pouch from his belt and poured them in. ‘Watch the night sky, Mahu, and you’ll see the fire.’

He helped me to my feet.

The puppy also rose, yelping. Sobeck leaned down, grasped it by the nape of the neck and pulled it up.

‘I am still in the dog-skinning business, Mahu! This will be good for the child of some pilgrim.’ The dog yelped again, little legs flailing in the air. ‘An orphan.’ Sobeck placed it back. ‘No one will miss it.’

I leaned down and scooped it up; the puppy licked my hand. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘What?’ Sobeck laughed. ‘Mahu, have you gone sentimental? But you have made a good choice.’

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘It’s a greyhound, isn’t it? They make good watchdogs.’ I held Sobeck’s gaze. ‘And if treated affectionately, will give the utmost loyalty. I don’t give a fig about a puppy. What I am anxious about, Sobeck, is taking a goblet of wine on the roof of my house whilst some silent shadow comes creeping up the stairs.’

Sobeck put his arm round my shoulder, pushing me towards the door. ‘Keep your dog, Mahu. You are going to need all the protection you can get.’

I paused. Again he gave me a squeeze, nails pressing into the fleshy part of my arm.

‘We talked about what we want,’ he whispered. ‘Horemheb’s ambition, Huy’s lust for wealth and power, but your master, the Grotesque, he’s the dangerous one. He wants to be a god.’

‘So does every Pharaoh.’

‘Ah yes, Mahu, but the Grotesque is different. He really thinks he is a god, the only god, the God Incarnate. Mark my words, those who look for god in everything end up looking for god in themselves — and usually find it.’ He released his grip and patted me on the shoulder. ‘You are safe to go. No one will trouble you.’

Still wearing Snefru’s coat, I reached the quayside. Ferries were few as darkness had fallen. The river people were reluctant to ply their trade, fearful of pirates and smugglers, not to mention hungry crocodiles or angry hippopotami. However, as soon as I arrived the punt appeared, broad and squat, low in the water. A young man stood in the stern, pole resting against his shoulder. An old man, whom I took to be his father, sat just before the prow carved in the shape of a panther’s head: above this a pitch torch flared whilst a quilted hide of sheepskin covered the rear benches.

‘Fruit,’ the old man called, gesturing, ‘but if you want …?’

I climbed in, handed over some copper debens and sat in front of the old man. He crouched, red-rimmed eyes smiling, chomping on his gums. From a card round his neck hung an amulet, a jackal’s head. The old man was singing softly under his breath, rocking backwards and forwards. I wondered how much beer he had drunk. The puntsman was skilled enough and the craft moved away, out from the dangers lurking along the reedfilled banks. I clasped the puppy, warm under my cloak, my mind full of thoughts about Sobeck and the hidden threat of his words. The old man chattered, but I didn’t really listen. The dancing torch flame caught my gaze. My eyes grew heavy. I was stupid, I relaxed. The strengthening cold breeze awoke me. When I stirred and glanced up, the old man didn’t look so cheery or welcoming; his was an evil face full of ancient sin. He was staring at me as if I was a bull for the slaughter, squinting to see if I had a pendant beneath my cloak or bracelets on my wrist. I glanced to my left. The punt was now in midriver, further from the bank than it should have been; we were too far out in the blackness, the river running strong. The puppy stirred as it caught my alarm.

‘This is not-!’

I felt the blade touch the back of my head.

‘Now, traveller, be at peace.’ The old man rocked backwards and forwards, chortling with laughter. The boat was moving swiftly; the puntsman must still be at his post so the blade was being held by an assassin — that’s what the sheepskins had concealed. They’d been waiting for me and I had walked into the trap like some brainless hare caught in a hunter’s net.

‘Here?’ the harsh voice grated behind me. ‘One stab, one slash!’

‘Oh no.’ The old man wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Not here, near the crocodile pools: no sign, no trace.’

‘Whatever you were offered,’ I declared, ‘I’ll give you more.’

The old man squinted at me, leaned over and patted me gently on the wrist. ‘It’s not like that,’ he replied sadly. ‘It’s not like that at all.’

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘Ask the Lord Anubis when you meet him.’

‘Why?’

‘Ask him that as well.’

The puppy was now squealing. I gazed across the night-shrouded water. The banks were distant, their fading pricks of light mocked me. Was this Sobeck’s work? No, I reasoned he would have killed me as soon as we met. I made to move, the knife pricked my neck and I winced. A screech owl called, a soul-chilling cry echoed by the roar of a hippopotamus. The water slapped against the boat, the night air was freezing cold. I wanted to be sick but my throat was too dry even to swallow or beg for my life: those cruel old eyes showed no pity. These assassins had been hired for the task and they’d complete it.

‘We will take everything you have.’ Again the pat on my wrist. ‘And if you behave we’ll cut your throat before the crocodiles even know you are in the water. Good,’ the old man sniffed. ‘You are going to be quiet, no crying and weeping, bawling and begging. Listen, I have a poem.’ He hawked and spat. ‘I recite it to all my guests.’ He poked my cloak where the puppy squirmed. ‘You have a dog there?’ He pulled back my robe with the tip of the dagger concealed in his hand. ‘A puppy, how sweet! Well, we’ll kill that, too, as an offering to the River God, to keep us safe. Look at the mist. You have only got one journey,’ he sniggered. ‘We have to make two.’

A bank of mist was drifting across the water, wafted and shifted by the breeze.

‘Now keep that little cur silent.’ The old man preened himself. ‘My poem is important, it’s your death lament.’ He intoned: ‘In the end, all things break down. All flesh drains. All blood dries …’

‘Ahoy there!’

I gazed into the night. A skiff, a torch lashed to the pole on the front, was aiming straight towards us.

‘Ahoy there! May the God Hapi be with us! May his name-!’

‘What do you want?’ the old man screeched.

‘I am lost.’ The light concealed the speaker.

‘Where do you want to be?’ the assassin behind me bellowed.

‘In the Fields of the Blessed,’ the cheery voice rang out. The skiff turned abruptly to the left, coming up behind us. The assassin behind me dared not turn, nor could the puntsman. The old man was staring by me, trying to make out the newcomer. A sound like that of swift fluttering wings carried across the water, the music of an arrow. The man behind me holding the knife crashed into me, hands scrabbling at my back even as he coughed up life’s hot blood. Another whirr, a shriek followed by a splash as the puntsman collapsed into the water. The punt rocked dangerously but its broad flatness held it secure. The old man reacted too slowly. I lashed out with my fist as he rose. He staggered to the side, tried to regain his balance but tumbled into the water. The puppy jumped down between my feet. I pushed it away as I lurched to the side. The assassin behind me had now fallen over backwards. The arrow had taken him in the back of the neck and its barbed point jutted out under his chin. The old man was desperately trying to clamber aboard.

‘Please!’

I struck his vein-streaked, bald head. The punt was rocking from side to side. I clawed his face, pushing him under the water.

‘Finish your poem!’ I screamed. ‘Let the river beasts hear it!’ My nails dug into his face, one finger jabbed an eye. He lashed out at my hands. The water swirled, then he was gone. I sat back catching my breath. The corpse of the assassin who had pricked my throat followed his master into the water. The puppy was mewling softly. I snatched it up and looked for my rescuer. The skiff came alongside. The young man sitting so calmly within it smiled at me: a powerful Syrian bow across his lap, a quiver of arrows beside him. And that’s where I met him! Djarka, at the dead of night with the cold freezing my skin and my heart and belly lurching with fear. He just smiled at me, his smooth, olive-skinned face unmarked even by a bead of sweat, those dark thick-lashed eyes staring curiously. He played with his black oiled hair, ringlets tumbling down each side of his face. At the time he looked more like a young woman than a man. I watched his hands. I could see no dagger.

‘Mahu.’ He spread his arms. ‘Mahu, come!’ His voice was tinged with an accent. ‘I am Djarka of the Sheshnu.’

‘So?’

‘I am one of the Silent Ones who serve Great Queen Tiye. I am to be your servant.’

‘I don’t need one.’

‘Oh yes, you certainly do,’ he sighed. ‘Come, we can talk on the way. The Great Queen wishes to speak to you. Let’s be gone before the river guards pass.’

I gripped the soaked puppy and jumped into the skiff. Djarka grabbed the paddle and we moved swiftly away, leaving the barge rocking in the river, its fiery cresset torch fading to a distant blur of light.

‘You were following me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Sobeck’s men never caught you?’

Djarka shrugged the robe off his shoulders and passed it back to me: it was quartered in four colours, red, blue, black and bright yellow.

‘People always look for the same,’ Djarka declared over his shoulder. ‘I try never to be the same. Sometimes I wear a hood. Sometimes I remove my sandals. I watched you leave the Sign of the Ankh. You went down to the quayside and acted very stupidly. They were waiting for you.’

‘But how did they know? Sobeck must have betrayed me.’

‘No.’ Djarka turned back and concentrated on his paddling. We were now approaching the Karnak side of the river and I could glimpse the lights along the quayside. ‘Sobeck would have killed you and buried your body out in the Red Lands.’

‘Then who?’

‘Someone wants you dead but, there again, someone wants me dead. We kill each other in our thoughts.’

By now my stomach had quietened, my heart beat not so fast. ‘You are a priest, a philosopher?’

Djarka laughed merrily like a boy and my heart warmed to him. ‘No, I am a hunter,’ he replied. ‘No, that’s wrong. I am an actor who mimes. Wrong again,’ he mused. ‘I am merely the Great Queen’s servant. I met you years ago, Mahu, out in the desert but I was a boy. You wouldn’t remember. Ah well, we are here.’

Djarka nosed the craft along the quayside steps which served one of the smaller courts of the Malkata Palace. He picked up a rope, lashed it to the metal ring driven into the wall and helped me out onto the slippery steps.

‘Can’t you get rid of that?’ He pointed at the puppy. He plucked it from my hands as he led me up the steps. We hurried across the courtyard, then Djarka stopped at a storeroom, pulled open a door and threw in the bow and arrows, followed by the little puppy, slamming the door shut on its whining and yelping.

‘It will be safe and warm there and will soon go to sleep. What are you going to call it?’

‘Karnak.’

Djarka gave a twisted smile. ‘The shaven heads of Amun will love that.’ He led me into the palace proper: guards in their blue and gold head-dresses, ceremonial shields displaying the ram’s head of Amun, stopped us. Djarka produced a clay tablet pass which silenced all questions and we were ushered on.

Queen Tiye was waiting for us in a downstairs chamber overlooking a small enclosed garden. The air was sweet with fragrance and through the open window I could see braziers glowing, their light shimmering on the ornamental lakes and pools. The room itself was bright, its walls painted blue and yellow with an oakwood border along the top and bottom. Queen Tiye was sitting on a small divan, the cushions plumped about her, poring over rolls of papyrus. She was dressed in a simple white tunic with an embroidered shawl studded with precious stones about her shoulders. As we came in, she glanced up. Her eyes were tired; the furrows on either side of her mouth were deeper, more marked than before.

‘You are safe, Mahu?’

I went to kneel but she waved at the cushions before the divan.

‘Sit down! Sit down! You too, Djarka.’

‘You had me followed, Excellency?’

‘Of course I did.’ Queen Tiye’s head went to one side. ‘Do you think you can go to Thebes, Mahu, and not be noticed? I know all about Sobeck and the jeweller. He’s dead, you know. I tried to suborn him and, poor fellow, he paid the price. You are wondering why I didn’t have Sobeck arrested?’ She shrugged. ‘Why should I? For stealing a royal concubine? He can have the lot! Moreover, what threat does he pose?’

I remained silent.

‘He wasn’t safe.’ Djarka spoke up. ‘He was attacked on the river by the Jackal Heads.’

‘Jackal Heads?’ I recalled the amulet slung round the old man’s neck.

‘A family of assassins,’ Djarka cheerily replied. ‘In fact, a clan who hire themselves out for murder.’

‘Your Aunt Isithia knew them,’ Tiye added. She smiled at my surprise. ‘Oh yes, she knew such assassins for a long time.’

I recalled the day going into the Temple of Anubis to view my father’s corpse: that strange beggarman at the quayside as well as the day my master was attacked.

‘Sometimes they guarded her,’ Queen Tiye declared, ‘and that intrigues me. Did you murder your Aunt Isithia, Mahu? At first I thought you did but you were in the palace when she died.’ She picked up a small cup from the table and sipped at it.

‘I didn’t kill her, Excellency, but I danced when I heard the news.’

‘I am sure you did.’

‘Who hired the Jackal Heads?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps I am not the only person who thinks you killed your aunt; it could be a blood feud. One day,’ she pursed her lips, ‘one day we’ll find the truth to all this and pull up the roots. Until then, you are my son’s protector and Djarka will be yours.’

‘I have Snefru!’

‘Djarka will be yours!’ she repeated flatly. ‘He is of good family and well suited.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You have very dangerous friends, Mahu. Sobeck, or whatever he calls himself now, is well-known to the police but he might be an ally.’

‘You wished to see me, Excellency?’ I was cold and tired.

‘Come!’ Tiye rose and crossed to a water clock standing in the corner. She glanced at it then picked up a cloak and swung it round her shoulders. ‘You’d best see this.’

We left the chamber, going along a maze of glorious corridors, across courtyards, penetrating deeper into the palace. Guards stood hidden in shadowy enclaves. Servants hurried by; fine robes billowing, bare feet slapping on the shiny floor. Halfway down one corridor Tiye paused, opened a door and led us into a chamber which smelt musty. No lights glowed. She stumbled about, whispering at us to be silent. Then she moved to the far wall, fumbled, and removed a small flap: a ray of light beamed into the room. She gestured me over. Djarka stayed leaning against the door. I crouched down, peered through and caught my breath.

‘The House of Love,’ Tiye whispered.

I was staring into the central chamber of the Magnificent One’s harem. The room was shadowy, though its centre was ringed with light. It was a beautiful place with water basins, lightly coloured pillars and a myriad of glowing oil lamps in pure alabaster jars. In the centre of the pool of light the Divine One sprawled naked in a thronelike chair. I could see every inch of his corpulent body, the heavy paunch and plump thighs glistening with oil, his powerful face, chin against his chest. All around him concubines fluttered, their slim naked bodies carefully shaved, lips painted, eyes lined with kohl, fingernails and toenails deeply carmined. Some anointed him with precious perfumes whilst others brought freshly plucked lotus for him to smell or sweet iced melon to quench his thirst. Beside him stood a small table bearing a game board, on which enamelled, terracotta pieces with dogs’ heads and hawks’ heads waited to be moved. The Magnificent One sniffed at the lotus or chewed a piece of melon. Now and again he’d grab the hand of one of the concubines and push it between his legs, even as he turned to throw the knuckle-bones to determine the next move upon the board. Against the far wall ranged a line of alcoves, above them the flashing gold of the Royal Vulture, its wings spread out. In one of the shadow-filled alcoves stood a divan, its cushions of many colours piled high. The Magnificent One rose and, taking two of the girls, entered the alcove and lay on the divan. The rest of the concubines patiently waited until he returned.

I wondered why Great Queen Tiye had brought us here: I was about to ask when a eunuch appeared, resplendent in white robes and insignia of office, body glistening, his sweaty, plump face painted like a woman’s. He came into the pool of light. Two of the concubines acted as fan-bearers on either side of him. The eunuch clapped his jewelled hands and shooed the women out from the Magnificent One’s presence. Pharaoh himself had returned to his thronelike chair. He picked up the knuckle-bones and threw them on the board, became angry at what he saw and turned away, flicking one of the pieces over with his finger. The chamber was now deserted.

‘Watch!’ Tiye hissed.

I heard a door open. The effect on the Magnificent One was startling. He pulled himself up in the chair, hands going between his legs. A shadowy form appeared, a young woman. She stepped into the light and I caught my breath. She was tall and slim; a thick braided perfumed wig framed her beautiful face. She was naked except for the jewellery which flashed at ear, throat, wrists and ankles. When she moved in her high-heeled sandals to stand before Pharaoh, I realised why the room had been emptied. I had only glimpsed her on a number of occasions but the young woman was Sitamun, Pharaoh’s eldest daughter. She crouched at her father’s feet, hands brushing his thighs, fingers moving towards his crotch. Then she rose and sat on his lap, legs dangling down either side as she moved further and further up, putting her hands about his neck. Pharaoh was now squirming with pleasure. I glanced at Queen Tiye: her face was like that of some ghost out of the West. Even in the poor light I glimpsed the grey pallor, the tear-rimmed eyes.

‘That,’ she whispered, ‘is the price I have to pay.’ She closed the flap very carefully and pressed the side of her head against the cold wall. ‘The Co-regency,’ she whispered. ‘Sitamun is playing the Great Queen, the Great Wife. Our daughter! His own flesh and blood!’

‘Why, Excellency?’ I whispered. ‘Why have you shown me this?’

Tiye remained silent, a hand to her eyes as she sobbed quietly, a heartrending sight. She brushed her eyes with her fingers.

‘Look on the magnificence of Egypt, Mahu, and despair.’

I thought she’d moved away but she turned and pressed both hands against the wall as if she wished to claw through the stone and plaster. My fingers searched for the flap. I felt the small handle, pulled it down and stared back at the House of Love. Sitamun had gone. Amenhotep sat crouched on his throne. I was about to lift the flap back when I saw a movement in the shadows. Someone else was in the room, a woman shrouded in a cloak.

‘Excellency,’ I whispered.

Queen Tiye ignored me. I peered through again. Amenhotep had risen and, grasping a cane, he waddled out of the pool of light, a ridiculous figure with his fat, vein-streaked legs, the drooping cheeks of his bottom, the creases of fat along his back. He moved into the shadows. The woman who was there offered her cloak which he placed round his shoulders. I could hear whispering but Amenhotep’s body blocked any view — yet I was sure I knew who the woman was: the Princess Khiya. What was she doing here, watching the Magnificent One make love to his own daughter? I felt Tiye’s nails in my cheek, forcing me away. I stood back, the flap was closed and Tiye led us out into the passageway. She only talked when we returned to the chamber, Djarka and I kneeling before her as she paced up and down. She looked grief-stricken though more composed.

‘What have you seen tonight, Mahu? Well,’ she sighed, ‘what you have seen is the rottenness in the blood; the way dreams can slip into nightmares. The Magnificent One, the brave-eyed lion, Horus in the South, being pawed by his own daughter. If Sitamun bears a child,’ Tiye stopped pacing and glared down at me, her eyes as fierce as any cat’s, ‘you are to kill her and the child.’

‘Excellency,’ I protested.

She brought her hand back and slapped me across the face. ‘There can be no more sons of Egypt!’ She crouched down before me. ‘You have seen my nightmare, Mahu. I now ask myself: is that rottenness also in my son? Will he surrender his destiny for passing pleasures? That’s why I chose Nefertiti for him.’ She stood up. ‘That’s why you are his protector.’

I kept kneeling, head down. I didn’t know why I had been taken to see what I had. Was it Queen Tiye’s way of warning me? Or was she preparing to murder her own daughter and grandchild? Perhaps she was trying to purge her own soul for allowing her husband full rein in his decadence?

Tiye gently touched me under the chin and forced my head back. ‘What else did you see, Mahu, when you looked again?’

I held her gaze. ‘Nothing, Excellency. I was just intrigued.’

‘Good!’ She stroked my cheek. ‘Remain intrigued, Mahu, and you will remain alive.’