An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 14

I was appointed Chief of Police over the entire city of Thebes and the surrounding area shortly after I recovered from a fever in the thirty-seventh year of the Magnificent One’s reign. I received my Gold Collar and Seals of Office at an official ceremony before the Window of Appearances from Akhenaten and Nefertiti, God’s Father Hotep looking on smugly. I was to work in the new buildings of the Palace of the Aten, my chambers standing next to Ay’s; the latter had also received further honours, including the title of the Commander of the Chariots of Min. My master never told me why I had been chosen or why there had been a delay over the publication of such a great office. Ay did that at the subsequent banquet as we dined on a range of delicacies cooked in the Canaan fashion over herb-strewn charcoal, the dishes being served by Syrian girls dressed in the guise of Hathor, the Lady of Mirth.

‘You are, Mahu,’ Ay spoke over his cup, ‘a cunning soul and you accept that what our Prince wishes has force of law, and that convinced me.’

So he had delayed my appointment! I was too drunk to respond, whilst the Gold Collar weighed heavily round my neck. The other children in the Kap were busy toasting me. Horemheb and Rameses, resplendent in their Guard Officers’ uniforms, were both looking lean and fit after a season out in the Red Lands hunting down and killing outlaws who preyed on caravans. Huy was absent, being despatched as an envoy across Sinai. As professional soldiers, Horemheb and Rameses were most interested in this. They grumbled about the creeping inaction of Egypt’s border troops to counter the unrest amongst her client states across Sinai, especially in the face of the growing power of the Hittites. Maya also attended as Hotep’s retainer. He looked plump and comely in his perfumed robes.

‘Ringed and bangled,’ Rameses hissed, ‘as any whore.’ Maya kept his distance as well he might: he had yet to decide which path he would tread. Pentju and Meryre lorded it over all, two wise fools full of wine and their own importance. Pentju was gabbling about the light of his life, the Lady Tenbra whom he had impressed with his wealth and status, so hoped to make a good marriage.

Of course, there were distractions enough at the banquet. All of us had to applaud Akhenaten as he directed his Hittite Orchestra of the Sun, now trained in the lute, the oboe, the harp and cymbal. The members of this singular group had their own quarters and no longer looked so strange in their heavy wigs and female robes, faces gaudily painted. They had soon reconciled themselves to their fate as consecrated to the god whilst seeing their eccentric ruler as God’s incarnate representative. We cheered as if they had been inspired by Hathor herself. They played passably well. Nefertiti, sprawled against the cushions, her babies lying swaddled next to her, kept up a playful commentary that whatever happened, the Hittites must not sing.

The banquet ended, as all such occasions did, in drunken toasts and bouts of false bonhomie. Nevertheless, we all knew it was a time of waiting, though waiting for what, had not yet been revealed. For the Magnificent One to journey to the Far Horizon? For Akhenaten to reveal his face publicly to the people? To confront those forces so implacably opposed to him in both court and temple? It was a busy time for me as I took my new duties seriously. Unrest and uncertainty seethed beneath the surface of the elegant colourful life of the court.

My alliance with Sobeck was formalised and strengthened. He now proclaimed himself as Lord of the Am-Duat, King of the Underworld, that hidden Thebes, a city of thieves, pickpockets, charlatans, vicious gangs, assassins, pimps and prostitutes. I would not interfere with him but he would help me whilst taking care not to cross the boundaries I had drawn.

I inherited two deputies in East and West Thebes, but soon replaced these with merchants, friends of Sobeck, bitter opponents of Rahimere the Mayor of Thebes and High Priest Shishnak. They reported to me constantly, a flood of petty information from servants, peddlers, workers in the Necropolis, merchants and spies, as well as the Medjay, the desert scouts and river guards. All the chatter and gossip of Thebes came into my office. Sobeck supplemented this and I soon won a reputation for ruthless efficiency. Visitors coming in from the Eastern and Western Deserts were greeted by a line of stakes bearing the impaled corpses of outlaws, bandits, river pirates and tomb-robbers. House-breakers, burglars and market thieves received swift justice in the courts, and brandings, floggings and executions were carried out in public, usually at the scene of the crime. Stolen goods were quickly recovered. Sobeck received a reward for these as well as the bounty posted on the heads of such malefactors. He celebrated my appointment by telling me to drink wine on a certain evening on the highest roof of the palace overlooking the city. I did so and sipped the richest wine from my cellar as I watched the fire flare and Aunt Isithia’s house go up in flames. I toasted and cheered the fierce red glow in the sky. Sobeck also sent information about the temple priests, that gaggle of hypocrites of whitewashed sepulchres. The shaven heads, led by Shishnak, were buying weapons and armour, increasing their guards and hiring mercenaries from as far afield as the Islands in the Great Green. Of course, they kept these out of Thebes and quartered them on their extensive estates along the Nile. I warned Ay. He just shrugged — ‘Mahu, the race hasn’t yet begun’ — and returned to the reports from his spies detailing the great wealth of Amun.

In the palace Akhenaten proved to be a doting father and loving husband. A certain distance, even coolness, had grown up between us but that was due to Ay’s influence as well as the distraction of his wives and family. At first Ay, as he’d confessed, had been opposed to me securing the post of Chief of Police. He’d wanted the office to go to another member of the Akhmin gang.

‘It wasn’t personal, dear boy,’ Ay whispered, ‘but in life, blood always comes first.’

In other areas Ay didn’t fail. Members of the far-flung Akhmin gang were appointed to posts whenever they fell vacant; if the Magnificent One tried to object, Queen Tiye always smoothed things over.

Nonetheless, I was not completely ignored. Akhenaten would sometimes go walking with me. He talked volubly or, indeed, lectured me about the Aten, his closeness to the Godhead and the truth of his destiny. I sensed he was holding back, due to the influence of Ay and Nefertiti, though sometimes the truth came out. He’d talk of dreams and visions of being visited by the Aten, or how he had flown on eagle’s wings beyond the Far Horizon.

‘I soared above the Eternal Green, Mahu.’ Akhenaten would stand, hands clasped, eyes half-closed. ‘I have looked on the face of the everlasting vision.’

At other times he’d not be so forthcoming, curt in his speech, stumbling in his walk, slow of thought, even indecisive in all his movements. I wondered how much of his mystical experiences, as well as his bouts of depression, were the result of Nefertiti’s potions and powders. In the two years following my appointment as Chief of Police, Nefertiti became pregnant twice again — a matter on which Akhenaten preened himself, hoping desperately for a son but hiding his disappointment at the birth of a third and fourth daughter.

Nefertiti became caught up in her role as wife and mother though she would also be constantly closeted with Akhenaten and her father as they dreamed and talked about change and revolution in Egypt. Oh, she was, and remained, always lovely, ever alluring, fair of form, gracious and good. Nevertheless, she did change, imperceptibly at first, this change expressing itself in a certain haughtiness in look, gesture and speech. She could be openly dismissive of Great Queen Tiye while the Magnificent One’s growing obsession with his eldest daughter became a constant subject for her mockery and salacious jokes. On state occasions the tables were now turned. There was no longer any laughter or giggling whispers about the Grotesque but bold mockery of Sitamun, who revelled in her status as the Great Wife of her own father. Tiye seemed to have given up any attempt to oppose her, being more content to hide in the shadows and wield what secret power she could. Sometimes, when Sitamun’s name was mentioned at a banquet or a meeting of the Royal Circle, Tiye would catch my eye, invoking memories of the night I’d peered into the House of Love whilst listening to her hissed instructions of what was to happen if Sitamun ever conceived a child. I would stare coldly back, quietly hoping that Tiye would, with her potions and powers, do her part to ensure her eldest daughter’s womb remained barren.

Of course neither Nefertiti nor Akhenaten had forgotten Shishnak, the High Priest; their support for the Aten was growing more visible. The Chapel of the Aten continued to be built at Karnak and both Akhenaten and Nefertiti often visited it, parading majestically past the shaven heads, stopping to comment how inscriptions to the Aten could be inscribed on that doorway, this pillar, that wall or pylon. It was all a mockery. Akhenaten had his own sun altar within his palace grounds. He also went out into the Western Red Lands to a place called the Valley of the Shadows in order to worship his god. Sometimes I accompanied him there. I always felt uneasy, as if what was about to happen there somehow stretched back from the future to touch my soul and warn my heart. The valley itself was narrow and sombre, steep-sided, its flank strewn with boulders, rough gorse, brambles and shifting shale. It had only one entrance, a narrow pass which fell steeply down to a snake-like track which curved and twisted, ending in an impasse of sheer rocks over which the Sun Disc would rise.

I always considered the valley to be a haunt of ghosts with its many caves and hollows on either side. Akhenaten saw it as a sacred place. He built a small altar at the far end, at the foot of the sheer cliffs, in order to sacrifice bread and wine to the Aten. He’d go out in his chariot, a few palace guards with Snefru’s retinue trotting behind him. They’d seal the entrance whilst Akhenaten went ahead with myself, Nefertiti, and sometimes Ay, along the floor of the valley to what he called ‘his sanctuary before the Sun Disc’. Such visits were a sinister experience conducted in that ghostly light which separates night from day. The bushes and boulders became skulking monsters or the hiding-place of some secret enemy. I had the entire valley investigated. The Medjay reported how witches and warlocks often met in its caves to practise their midnight rites. I could well believe it. One morning I smelt smoke and later that day I despatched Snefru to investigate and report back with true voice. Snefru confessed he was frightened, not so much by the human remains they had found in one cave, as they must have been years old. He claimed the hidden menace of the valley could be sensed even in the bright light of day. I advised Akhenaten to find a different place. He lost his temper, screaming at me that I was thick-headed and dull-witted. Later he apologised sweetly, saying how was I to know where the veil between him and his god became so thin?

Khiya was never taken on such pilgrimages even though she was deeply curious about her new husband’s religion. She’d often come tripping along the garden path, eyes all innocent in her round pretty face, a litany of questions about the gods and temples of Egypt.

‘Who is Mut?’ she’d ask. ‘What is her relationship with Amun, and is Khonsu their son? Do they rank higher than the Earth God Geb? Is the Sun Disc a god or just a symbol?’

Despite her puzzled looks and open eagerness to learn I was wary of her, yet Khiya stayed close to me, sending me gifts at New Year and on festival days. She always singled Karnak out for fussing as he grew from a mewling pup into a muscular, brown-haired hunting dog with swift legs, a strong jaw and fierce eyes. He followed me everywhere.

Khiya also developed a special fondness for Djarka, ‘my second shadow’ as Snefru jealously described him. Djarka’s added attraction to Khiya was a profound knowledge about herbs and a love of gardens as intense as Nefertiti’s. Khiya and her maid would insist that Djarka lecture them on the names and properties of different flowers and herbs. Khiya remained ever-smiling even though Nefertiti grew more haughty and distant, keen to emphasise her status and rights as Great Queen. Khiya submitted to all this, accepting the snubs, more concerned with her herbs or improving her knowledge of the Egyptian tongue. She was deeply interested in love poetry which she liked to declaim as the Orchestra of the Sun played softly in the background. Nefertiti resented such occasions for then Khiya, who had a beautiful voice, would come into her own. I can still recall certain lines which always charmed my heart.

Sometimes Khiya’s mask slipped and she suffered the consequences. She once showed me angry bruises on her arms and shoulders, results of Nefertiti’s violent outbursts which intensified as her pregnancies advanced. On another occasion Khiya came and sat on a small stool watching me draft a proclamation.

‘What’s that?’ She pointed to the hieroglyphs of waving grass.

‘That’s seket — it stands for field.’

‘And heb?’

‘An alabaster bowl to drink from.’

‘Would you get me something to drink, Mahu?’ She placed soft fingers on my wrist. ‘No, not wine,’ she smiled. ‘Not now. The juice of the poppy which comes from the island of the daydream so I, too, can fly on eagle’s wings.’

I withdrew my hand. I recalled the Magnificent One with his stodgy thighs, dropping arse and fat-caked back, lumbering to meet that mysterious woman in the shadows. Was that Khiya? Had she come seeking the precious opiate which the Magnificent One loved so much?

‘Your Excellency,’ I replied formally, ‘if I had such a juice I, too, would have eagle’s wings.’

Khiya never referred to the matter again. I asked Djarka what he thought.

‘Like you, my lord,’ the title was always tinged with mockery, ‘Khiya is a spectator caught up in the whirl of this frenetic dance.’

‘Don’t talk riddles.’

‘I am not, my lord Mahu. Haven’t you ever wished to be a gentleman of ease living the simple but good life with a wife and family?’

‘I don’t know if I could. As the tree is planted,’ I quoted the proverb I had used with Sobeck, ‘so it grows.’

‘We are not trees, Lord Mahu, but souls who make choices, decisions.’

‘In which case I have made mine. Or had them made for me. I cannot, I will not, leave the dance.’

‘Never?’

‘No, no, no. Never.’

I often thought of that reply but Djarka spoke the truth. Despite my best efforts I was a spectator, a watcher, as when I peered through that secret flap into the Magnificent One’s House of Love. Would I spend my life peering out at the likes of Akhenaten and Nefertiti? Or be part of their lives even as I watched? I concluded both were true and often discussed this with Djarka. He soon proved his worth, a good companion who warmed my heart and eased the bitter cold in my soul: he was the younger brother I would have loved or the son I might have had. Oh, he was ruthless too, of course, and could kill in the blink of an eye. My gratitude to him for rescuing me from the assassin on the Nile was boundless yet there was more to Djarka than being a good soldier, a good retainer with a truthful heart and clever wits. He became my body servant, a trusted steward, faithful envoy and the nearest thing I ever had to a family. Djarka had a dry sense of humour, a wry attitude to the world. He trusted no one, not even himself, yet he was honest about it. Unlike me, he believed in an afterlife and an ever-seeing, ever-present God, a concept I never understood or accepted. He soon learned that theology bored me and would turn swiftly to other matters, being a superb archer and skilled slinger though he was hopeless with horses.

Akhenaten would sometimes journey up the Nile on the barge The Glory of Aten to visit the sacred place as he had done years earlier. I was never invited along. Only Ay, Nefertiti and their children, protected by Nakhtimin’s palace guards who were never allowed to land, accompanied them. During such absences I’d take a chariot out with Djarka as my companion. We’d gallop across the fringes of the desert, Karnak bounding behind us, trying to keep up and not be lost in a cloud of dust. I would put the chariot into a furious war charge, wheels rattling, carriage swaying, horses galloping full out. We’d hurtle across the hard ground until the horses became exhausted. Afterwards we’d eat and drink and discuss the affairs of the court. On other occasions we’d hunt gazelle or antelope, me guiding the chariot, Djarka standing beside me, feet apart, his great Syrian bow strung, Karnak loping alongside ready to bring down our wounded quarry. I loved the hunt for the sake of the chase but we could also talk, well away from walls and windows, free of servants and the lurking eavesdropper. Djarka was full of praise for Great Queen Tiye whom he worshipped. On Akhenaten he would not comment except to make an observation very similar to Sobeck’s.

‘He has a destiny. Our Prince has a vision for Egypt better than what has gone before but he must remember he is not that vision, only its prophet.’

As our friendship grew Djarka became more scathing about Ay and Nefertiti. He was aware of my infatuation with the Princess but trusted me, not hesitating to dismiss them both as ‘thieves from the Underworld’. I’d argue back but I could never change his mind.

‘They are opportunists,’ he told me, ‘infatuated with power along with the whole Akhmin gang.’

‘You are prejudiced.’

‘And you are infatuated, Mahu — a dangerous thing for a Chief of Police. Little Khiya knows the truth,’ he added, ‘that’s why she stares so empty-headed. Why do you think they trust you? Because they know they control you; you are their property, body and soul.’

Such arguments would become intense, but in the end Djarka would just laugh.

‘When all is said and done,’ he’d conclude, ‘it will be Akhenaten who decides.’

On other occasions we’d discuss the growing tensions in Thebes, a dull ache which never went away. Djarka was always solemn about that. ‘I agree with Queen Tiye,’ he’d murmur. ‘Whatever we do, it will end in blood.’

Month had followed month, season had followed season, year had followed year, full of rumour and gossip. I had become accustomed to it. When the bloodletting finally came, it began so softly, indistinct, like the rains do when a mere cloud, the size of a man’s hand, appears in the brilliant blue sky. In the second month of Peret, in the Season of the Sowing, our cloud appeared. A message came from Sobeck to meet him out at the Oasis of Strangers in the Western Red Lands. He was waiting for me and Djarka, his scorpion men all about him, armed to the teeth, guarding the oasis, its palm trees dying as the well which once served it slowly dried up. Sobeck escorted me deeper into the oasis while Djarka unhitched the horses and led them into the shade. Sobeck’s scorpion men drifted across to chat as well as to admire our harness and carriage.

‘Listen to this, Mahu.’ Sobeck put an arm across my shoulder. ‘One of my acquaintances, a merchant, trades in animal skins with the Libyans. He brought me a strange rumour that one of their most powerful tribes is moving South.’

‘The Libyans are always doing that, probing for a weakness.’

Sobeck held up a hand. ‘These are buying up weapons, chariots and warhorses and they are not using animal skins to barter with, but this.’ He opened his left hand; the small six-sided ingot of gold winked in the sunlight. I plucked it up and weighed it in my hand.

‘Pure gold,’ Sobeck confirmed. ‘Freshly minted, unmarked. The Libyans are using that to buy arms from mercenaries along the coast of the Great Green.’

‘This comes from Egypt. Is it possible,’ I replied, ‘that only a few are being used?’

‘My merchant friend says the Libyans have plenty — and there is more.’ Sobeck gestured to the distant heat haze. ‘My friend became very curious, even more so, when this tribe or clan — well, at least its warriors, about five hundred in all — completely disappeared from their usual hunting grounds. Well now!’ He played with the ring in his earlobe. ‘My spies eventually learned from the womenfolk that, ten days ago, these warriors moved across into the Eastern Desert. They are still out there, a war-party with weapons and provisions.’

‘What about our scouts and patrols?’

‘How far do they go, Mahu — twenty, thirty miles at the most? The Libyans are further out.’

‘The Eastern Desert Lands are quiet.’

‘Precisely. You don’t expect to find a Libyan army across the Nile.’ Sobeck grinned. ‘Moreover, they’ve probably broken up into small cohorts. Oh well.’ He patted his flat stomach, brushing away the sweat. ‘I have also brought you a present — two, in fact.’

He called across the oasis. A scorpion man hurried over, placed two leather buckets at Sobeck’s feet and threw back the flaps. I flinched at the stench of corruption from the two severed heads; flies, whirling black dots, came buzzing out.

‘I think you have been introduced.’ Sobeck lifted the face of the old man, the Jackal’s assassin. I had told Sobeck the tale and ordered him to wipe out the entire clan.

‘Oh yes, he survived.’ Sobeck tapped one of the sunken yellowing teeth. ‘I caught up with him sheltering in a village to the south of Thebes. He’s the last so there will be no blood feud.’ He threw the head like a ball onto the sand and plucked out the second, a Libyan with long hair, swarthy skin, peaked nose and full lips, a calm composed face bereft of the horror which had masked that of the old assassin. ‘My merchant friend was so intrigued I became curious. I hired some of my Sand Wanderers to search well beyond the area patrolled by the chariot squadrons. They caught three scouts. Two were killed but this one,’ he threw the head after the other, ‘was brought in. I questioned him, with the help of a little fire.’

‘Won’t they be missed?’ I asked.

Sobeck shook his head. ‘Libyans are travelling across a terrain unknown to them; it’s quite common for scouts and guides to become lost. Anyway, he spoke before he died. His war-party had been bribed to cross with gold, silver, precious stones and whatever plunder they could take.’

‘By whom?’

‘I don’t know. It would have to be someone very powerful.’ Sobeck continued, ‘Think, Mahu, five hundred warriors crossing the Nile. They would need barges, someone to look the other way.’

‘And the prisoner told you?’

‘They crossed just above the First Cataract.’

‘A deserted place,’ I declared. ‘No black lands or greenery.’

‘That’s where the scouts were found, in an area where there are no mines and very few patrols — an arid, deserted place. Someone must have provided the barges, a deserted mooring place, as well as maps of the wells and springs. Anyway, now I was truly intrigued. I took my bodyguard down the Nile and found the barges still moored there.’

‘So the Libyans have a way back?’

‘Five hundred fighters, Mahu, warriors: very well-armed, bribed with gold, and furnished with barges and maps, hiding in a place no one would think of searching. What are they going to attack?’

‘It can’t be Thebes, it’s too powerful.’

‘The Malkata lies on the east bank,’ Sobeck whispered, ‘so does the Palace of the Aten.’

‘All are well-guarded.’

‘Against a sudden assault?’

A coldness pricked the nape of my neck, sending a shiver across my shoulders. I stared at the severed head, embedded in the sand. The vultures were already circling above us.

‘It’s not the Malkata,’ I replied. ‘It’s the Valley of the Shadows out in the Eastern Red Lands.’ I explained Akhenaten’s pilgrimages to what he termed his ‘sacred shrine’.

‘Ah well.’ Sobeck pulled his dagger in and out of its embroidered leather sheath. ‘Now we come to something else.’ He gestured across the oasis. ‘Do you trust Djarka?’

‘With my life.’

‘Why, what do you know of him?’

‘He’s a member of the Sheshnu,’ I declared. ‘One of their tribe. A good hunter, faithful and loyal to Great Queen Tiye.’

‘But you trust him with your life? Why?’

‘He reminds me of you, Sobeck.’

‘As I am?’

‘As you were.’

Sobeck glanced away. ‘Good, good,’ he muttered. ‘But don’t trust Snefru.’

‘No!’ I shouted and stepped back. ‘No, not Snefru?’

Djarka, talking to the scorpion men, turned in alarm, his hand going to the quiver at his feet. I gestured all was well.

‘Yes, Snefru.’ Sobeck was enjoying himself. ‘He has been with the shaven heads of Amun.’

I glanced at the severed head of the Jackal leader. I couldn’t make out his features, as the eyes and nose were buried in the sand but, for a moment, I thought its mouth was laughing.

‘What’s the matter, Mahu?’

I recalled stepping into the assassin’s punt.

‘I’d always wondered,’ I replied, ‘how they recognised me. Of course I was wearing Snefru’s cloak, garish, like that of a Desert Wanderer.’

‘Well, now you know.’ Sobeck lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘You’ll remember me, Mahu.’

I stepped closer. ‘Why did you remember me, Sobeck? Why are you doing this?’

‘Because of what I was, because of what I am.’ He smiled thinly. ‘If you go into the dark, Mahu, then so do I. Peace, friend.’ He backed away. ‘I’ll watch with interest what happens.’

Djarka and I took Snefru that same day after darkness had fallen. Fighting hard to control my fury, I asked him to come for a walk, out of the palace grounds into the trees, not far from where Ay had poisoned the scribe Ineti. I chattered about what we were going to do on the morrow, certain items to be bought in Thebes. When the opportunity presented itself I stepped back and knocked him senseless with a blow from the club I’d hidden beneath my robes. Djarka soon had the unconscious man’s hands and feet lashed to pegs driven into the ground, a filthy rag thrust into his mouth. He squatted beside him while I returned to the palace and searched Snefru’s chamber. I found what I was looking for in a wall cavity hidden by the bed: a leather bag full of the same ingots Sobeck had showed me, as well as a pass allowing Snefru into the inner precincts of the Temple of Amun.

By the time I returned, Snefru had regained consciousness and Djarka had placed a small alabaster jar of oil next to his head. I felt a twinge of pity at those fear-filled eyes, that grotesque, scarred face twisted in pain. Djarka had already been busy cutting his cheeks, arms and legs with a razor-sharp dagger. The blood seeped out. I removed the gag.

‘You can scream, Snefru, but if you do, someone may hear and I’ll have to put the gag back. Shall I tell you where we are going? Out to the Red Lands, the hole has already been dug. I will bury you alive. You’re bleeding so the lions and hyenas will come and sniff you and …’

‘Master, Master,’ Snefru gabbled.

‘Don’t Master me,’ I replied, crouching next to him. ‘I’ve found both the pass and the gold. I know about the Libyans and your meetings with the shaven heads. All you have to decide, Snefru, is whether you are to die quickly and quietly here or out in the Red Lands. You’ll scream and yell as the hot sand fills your mouth and nostrils. The prowlers will sniff your blood and dig you out, like a warthog hiding in its den.’

‘I know nothing!’ Snefru screamed, body buckling against the thongs as Djarka, squatting on the other side, sliced his arm.

‘Why, Snefru?’ I asked. ‘I trusted you.’

‘You used to.’ Snefru glared at Djarka.

‘Oh, it’s more than that,’ I retorted.

‘The shaven pates.’ Snefru gave a sigh. ‘A quick death, Master?’

‘Very quick, no more than a heartbeat.’

‘Two months ago,’ Snefru confessed, ‘one of their acolytes approached me in the marketplace at Thebes. He took me into a beer-house and told me they knew everything about Imri and how he and the others had died. One day I would be punished, he swore; they’d crucify me on the walls of Thebes. They said the Grotesque, ’ Snefru coughed, ‘was a heretic, who would soon be sent into the Underworld to meet his just deserts. They offered me a farm, gold, the protection of Amun.’

‘What — just for information?’ I scoffed. ‘Snefru, you knew so little. Tell me about the Libyans,’ I persisted.

‘All I was told is that one day soon, Akhenaten would go into the Valley of the Shadows.’

‘And you’d go with him,’ I interrupted. ‘You and the rest would seal the valley entrance.’

‘The Libyans would attack,’ Snefru went on. ‘I was to wear a blue rag round my left arm and hide.’

‘And the Libyans would sweep in, kill your companions, murder the Prince and anyone with him.’

‘There was more.’ Snefru cleared his throat and Djarka withdrew the knife. ‘If possible, they were to attack this place.’

‘The Palace of the Aten?’

‘A night raid to kill and burn as much as they could before retreating downriver.’

I struck Snefru across the face.

‘Of course,’ I whispered. ‘And the chariot squadrons would search the Eastern Desert but the Libyans would be back across the Nile.’

‘If any chariot squadrons were sent out,’ Djarka added. ‘If our Prince were dead, and Ay and Nefertiti, not to mention ourselves, there would be a delay, caused by the confusion and chaos.’

‘Who’s behind this?’ I asked.

‘I met the same priest,’ Snefru yelped as Djarka cut his arm again. ‘He brought me messages, gold. They’ve chosen the day; it’s very soon.’

‘I know which day they’d choose,’ I snarled. ‘Our Prince is famous for deliberately ignoring the decrees of the Temple. On an inauspicious day when everyone stays at home, he insists on going out long before dawn to worship his god.’

Snefru nodded.

‘The rest?’ Djarka asked. ‘Your companions?’

‘They know nothing.’ He winced as Djarka cut again. ‘They are innocent.’ Then he began to cry, the tears coursing down his scarred cheeks.

I got to my feet, wiping the sweat from my neck.

‘And me, Snefru?’ I glared down at him. ‘You gave me your cloak — the sign for the assassins hired by Amun — me, your friend — your master.’

‘I had no choice,’ he mumbled. ‘The shaven heads wanted you out of the way, as well as to frighten the Grotesque. They knew of your secret journeys to Thebes, they told me to lend you one of my cloaks …’ He began to sob.

‘Does he know more, my lord?’ Djarka asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘He would only be told the time and place. Everything else was left to others.’

I walked to where Karnak sprawled obediently under a tree quietly watching what was happening. He got to his feet so I crouched down and stroked his muzzle.

‘Kill him, Djarka!’ I shouted.

My servant sang a few lines of a hymn I couldn’t understand. When he had finished, Snefru gargled and choked as his throat was slashed.

‘Get rid of the corpse.’ I got to my feet gesturing at Karnak to follow. ‘Oh, and Djarka,’ I peered through the darkness, ‘tell the others in Snefru’s company that their leader has been sent on an important errand, and that he will be away for at least a month.’

‘And?’ Djarka asked, coming forward, resheathing his dagger.

‘They can’t be trusted,’ I replied heavily. ‘Whatever happens, they too must die.’

The following afternoon, as the heat of the day faded, I met Maya at my request in a House of Delights managed by one of Sobeck’s Lieutenants. It was an exquisite place with a tinkling fountain in a white stone courtyard. Inside was a brilliantly painted hall of columns with beautiful eyecatching scenes on the wall depicting young men in a number of poses. I met Maya in one of the love chambers which led off from this hall. It had a cool tiled floor, its walls were painted a soothing green, and the ceiling was a dark blue decorated with silver stars and a golden moon. In the centre stood a great bed of state, its feet carved in the shape of lions’ heads.

‘Why, Mahu!’ Maya gazed admiringly around. ‘I didn’t think we shared such tastes.’

‘We don’t,’ I replied, gesturing at a corner where cushions were piled around a table. ‘But this is as good a place as any to talk. I think it’s best if you relaxed.’

We took our seats, to be served mouthwatering dishes of goose and quail, pots of fish grilled over charcoal fires, wine from the best vineyards. Pretty boys, with sidelocks falling down their faces, dressed in nothing but the scantiest of loincloths, pearl drops in their earlobes with matching necklaces and bangles, tended to our every wish. Maya enjoyed himself. He had grown plumper and even more astute. He ate and drank well, pawed the boys, then leaned back, patting his stomach, staring up at the ceiling.

‘If you want to know something, Mahu, the answer is I don’t know. And now I’d like to sample this House’s other delicacies but I’d prefer to do it by myself, or do you like watching?’

‘Do you know who owns this house?’ I asked.

Maya loosened the band round his waist, splaying his fingers, admiring the paint on his nails.

‘No, you tell me.’

‘Kheferu. Have you ever heard of him?’

‘Yes, he’s some thief from the Underworld, a pimp, a bully boy.’ Maya gestured. ‘Who cares?’

‘Sobeck,’ I replied.

Maya dropped his hand and stared openmouthed. ‘Kheferu?’ he replied.

‘Kheferu is Sobeck,’ I whispered. ‘He came back, Maya, and carved out his own fortune, his own career.’

‘Is he here?’ Maya would have sprung to his feet but I pressed his plump shoulder back.

‘I can arrange for Sobeck to meet you but he’s changed.’

‘In my heart, never.’

‘He’s not what you think, Maya.’

‘I don’t give a fig what you say, Mahu.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘You are lying.’ Maya pulled away. ‘This is a story you have made up to make me talk.’

‘Is it? It’s not just a question of talking, Maya. You work at the House of Secrets. You, like Sobeck, like myself, know what’s happening in Thebes. One day a bloody confrontation will take place between my master and the priests of Amun. You will have to decide which party you support.’

‘The House of Secrets,’ Maya gabbled, ‘belongs to no party.’

‘Nonsense!’ I replied. ‘And you know it. The time of blood is upon us, Maya. Sobeck is with me. I am with the Prince, the legitimate Lord of the Two Lands.’

‘Only Co-regent,’ Maya snapped.

‘Nonsense,’ I repeated. ‘The Magnificent One might as well be in the Far West. He spends his days in a drunken, drugged frenzy, obsessed with his eldest daughter.’

Maya blinked kohl-ringed eyes.

‘Moreover,’ I persisted, ‘you have already chosen. You are having dinner with me.’

‘I can explain that.’

‘Can you?’ I replied. ‘You are a child of the Kap, Maya. If the priests of Amun win, do you think they’ll allow any of us to survive?’

‘Who are they?’

‘That’s what I want to find out. Now, let me tell you a story.’

I told him about meeting Sobeck, the Valley of the Shadows, the gold, the Libyan war-party and Snefru’s confession. Maya’s face grew ashen; he was gulping at his wine, hands shaking. When I had finished, he sat staring moodily at the state bed.

‘I can’t tell you anything.’

‘When this is all over,’ I edged closer, whispering in his ear, ‘friends and allies will be promoted, enemies punished.’

Maya was hooked. I knew he was but he had to make the decision himself.

‘Such things are kept secret.’ He looked out of the corner of his eye at me. ‘You know that, Mahu.’

‘The gold,’ I asked. ‘Where did it come from?’

‘Oh, that’s easy enough,’ he replied. ‘The House of Silver at the Temple of Amun. They have their own Mint.’

‘And how would it be transported to the Libyans?’

Maya’s fat face creased into a smile. ‘Again, easy enough. A year ago the Temple of Amun sent an important delegation to the Libyans to demonstrate the favour of their god and advance their own interests.’

‘Of course,’ I agreed. ‘And the shaven heads of Amun are sacred, their pack donkeys can carry whatever they want. No guards would dream of searching their chests or panniers — but how about the barges?’

Maya clicked his tongue. ‘That’s what you want to know, is it? You want me to search amongst the files and records. It’s quite customary for orders to be issued for barges to be collected.’

‘That’s right, and I want to know who ordered those barges.’

‘You know that already,’ Maya countered.

‘Yes, but I want proof. Who gave the order?’ I gestured at the wine jug. ‘I am going to sit here and finish that while you go and find out. I’ll wait for your return.’

Maya made to protest.

‘I’ll wait for your return!’ I snapped.

He left a short while later. I lay down on the cushions and slept for a while. I was woken by a loud knocking; one of the servant boys came in to announce that my friend had returned. Maya came bustling through the door. He had changed his robes and looked more alert. He smacked the boy’s bottom, closed the door behind him, then leaned against it.

‘May the gods help us, Mahu, but we are in this together.’

‘The barges?’ I persisted.

‘God’s Father Hotep,’ Maya replied. ‘He ordered the barges to be assembled on different quaysides and transported to a point just above the First Cataract.’

‘And the reason?’

‘Army manoeuvres.’

‘Of course, there are always army manoeuvres and the order would soon be forgotten.’

Maya nodded. I got to my feet.

‘So it’s Shishnak and Hotep. Possibly that fat fool Rahimere, Mayor of Thebes.’ I stretched out my hand. Maya grasped it and suddenly brought his other hand up, the point of the dagger only inches from my face.

‘No, don’t be troubled.’ He moved the dagger away and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Mahu, if you’ve lied, I’ll kill you!’

‘If I have lied,’ I replied, ‘you won’t have to. If we lose this, we’ll lose everything. There’s something else, Maya. You were there in the Temple of Amun when Tuthmosis died. You must suspect something was wrong. I could tell that.’

‘I learned something but I kept it to myself.’ He spoke quickly, hoarsely. ‘My spy is a lector priest who supervises the temple’s laundry. On the night Tuthmosis died he was told to burn some expensive linen sheets. He never asked why but inspected them. They were covered in a sort of bloody vomit.’ He put the knife away. ‘You know what that means, Mahu?’

I recalled the dead Prince’s chamber.

‘The sheets were unmarked,’ I whispered. ‘And the same was true of Akhenaten’s. Tuthmosis didn’t die in his own chamber.’ My heart skipped a beat. ‘I know what happened, Maya. Tuthmosis went to his brother’s chamber to await him. Whilst there he must have drunk poisoned wine intended for Akhenaten. The alarm was raised. They moved Tuthmosis back to his own room, cleaned Akhenaten’s, replacing the sheet which had been stained. The priests of Amun made a hideous mistake. They poisoned the wrong brother.’

Maya, ashen-faced, moaned quietly under his breath.

‘What will you do, Mahu?’

‘I have no choice,’ I replied. ‘But I tell you this, Maya. Report to the House of Secrets today and tomorrow but, on the third day, keep well away. Hide yourself against the coming storm.’