An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 4

The eating-house of the Residence had been transformed for the occasion. Painters had skilfully drawn battle-scenes on the walls in eyecatching dark blues, deep reds and golden yellows — all depicting the glories and bravery of the Horus unit. Our battle standards, displaying the Ever Blind Yet All-Seeing Horus triumphant over a fallen Kushite, rested against the wall on either side of the door. We sat on the softest cushions before small tables on which alabaster oil jars and scented candles glowed against the darkness. On the other side of our tables sat a line of beautiful temple girls in braided, perfume-drenched wigs, sloe eyes ringed with green kohl, bracelets dangling on their wrists, jewelled rings glittering on their long sensuous fingers, gorgets of amethyst round their soft throats. They came from the Temple of Isis and were called ‘the Hands of God’: they were well named! All were draped in linen veils which only enticed rather than concealed their beauty. These soft-eyed, red-lipped girls with their tender glances and soft sighs were a constant paean of praise to the heroic Horus unit. Baskets of flowers and pots of myrrh, frankincense and cassia perfumed the air. In the far corner musicians with lyre, harp, flute and oboe provided soothing music to pluck at the heart and stir bittersweet memories.

At the top of the room in their robes of glory and scented wigs, jewellery glittering at throat, ear and finger sat God’s Father Hotep flanked by the Veiled One and Crown Prince Tuthmosis. They were our hosts, the newly proclaimed Maryannou of Pharaoh, Braves of the King. Hotep sat impassively. The Veiled One had drunk deeply. He looked bored, playing with his food, strips of tender pork, beef, chicken and duck, tapping his nails against the silver goblet. Around his neck dangled a Collar of Valour as he had killed two of the enemy in hand-to-hand combat during the expedition.

I made no mention of my role. Once the two Kushites were dead, I had rejoined the bloody struggle taking place in the rest of the camp. I blinked and glanced away. We had been well entertained as a reward for our bravery. Sinuous dancing girls with flashing eyes, clicking castanets, naked except for a loincloth had performed feats of agility, their long black hair sweeping the ground and stirring our lusts. We were all there: Maya, plump and soft-skinned, staring calf-eyed at Sobeck. I ignored the heset opposite me, her flirtatious glances and coy, soft touches across the table. I closed my eyes. A month had passed since I had returned from ‘The Cauldron’ as we now called the desert. We had arrived home, lean, dark-skinned warriors who had bloodied themselves in the heat of battle. We had been given a hero’s welcome, the Silver Bees of Bravery and the Gold Collars of Valour being bestowed on everyone in our unit. Maya had been so incensed with jealousy he had gone out and bought himself a cornelian necklace, a shimmering myriad of colours to hang round his own throat. Our deeds had been extolled by heralds and poets all over Thebes. Colonel Perra’s death was viewed as an act of gross treachery for which the Kushite princes paid a terrible price. We had only survived their brutal ambush due to Horemheb; his vigilance and ruthlessness had kept us prepared. Our assailants were driven off, scouting patrols were despatched, then we retreated, faces towards the enemy, falling back until we reached the support corps, the ‘Splendour of Isis’ near the oasis of Koroy.

Tonight’s celebration was the last of many. It not only marked the official end of the campaign but our education at the royal court. Tomorrow Horemheb, Rameses and Sobeck took up their commissions in the Sacred Band, an imperial regiment under Hotep’s direct command, which guarded the temple complexes of Thebes. Huy was to enter the House of Envoys, Pentju and Meryre the House of Life, Maya, the treasury, the House of Silver. And me? I opened my eyes and smiled at the girl opposite. Tomorrow, I reflected, would take care of itself. The room was stifling, so I rose, bowed towards the High Table and went out into cool, fragrant night air. I stared up at the stars, brilliant gems on a dark cushion and wondered what I really would do. A sound made me jump. I turned round, my fingers going for the knife which wasn’t there. Imri the one-eyed Kushite, leader of the Veiled One’s personal guard, emerged into the pool of light. He bowed sardonically, one hand on his chest. ‘I did not know,’ he said, and glanced at me from under his eyebrows. ‘I did not know you were one of the heroes.’

‘A change,’ I taunted, ‘from when you put a rope round my neck.’

‘Now you have put the rope round many a Kushite.’

‘You were not there?’

‘I would have been.’ Imri stepped forward. ‘Egypt is my home; my master has my loyalty.’

‘Then why didn’t you come with us?’

‘Orders from above.’ Imri winked his good eye and gestured towards the palace.

He walked back into the darkness. I wanted to be alone, away from Imri’s careful gaze, the raucous chanting of the eating-house. I decided to walk on. Since my return from The Cauldron, I had grown to love the cool greenery of the evening, the whispering olive trees, the sound of running water, the comfortable silence, unbroken by the prowlers of the night. I also wanted to think and plan — but about what? Where was I to go? What was I to do? I had fought as a soldier, the stench of blood was never really far from my nose and mouth. My sleep was plagued by nightmares. I could not do that again, at least not for a while.

I found myself walking down towards the Silent Pavilion, keeping to the line of trees. Surprisingly its gates were open, the courtyard bathed in pools of light from glowing braziers and oil lamps. People were about to leave. I hid behind a sycamore and watched a group of courtiers protected by Nakhtu-aa, swords drawn, shields up. Yet, despite the ring of protectors, the group looked relaxed. A man of middle height walked between two women, the rest appeared to be retainers. The elder woman was Great Queen Tiye — I recognised those high cheekbones and full lips, the hard sensuous mouth. The other woman was much younger. Just outside the gate, she stepped into a pool of light; pausing to listen to something her male companion said, she threw her head back and laughed. My heart skipped! My soul, that hidden force within me, surged to meet hers. It was the first time I had experienced such passion and, indeed, the last. The sheer exhilarating beauty of that face!

In my wine-drenched frenzy I thought she was staring directly at me, hands clasped, head slightly tipped back, hair cascading down, a jewelled-braid band about her brow, beautiful sloe eyes under heavy lids, that laughing, merry mouth. Despite the darkness I saw it all. A soul on fire with her own beauty! Nefertiti! Nefer means beautiful and the name was created for her. Till that night I’d never loved and, since that night, I have never really loved again. Don’t mock, don’t ridicule. Each soul has its song, each heart its purpose. Nefertiti was my song, my purpose. You’ll say it is ridiculous. I thought it was miraculous. A vision by moonlight, a face which took in all my longing: all my hurts, all the stupidities and the waste — I could forget them all, looking at her! On that evening I stared on the face of my eternity and became lost in it. I still am. Don’t mention courtship, getting to know someone, nurturing feelings. What nonsense is that? If death can come in a heartbeat, why not the profoundest love? I just watched openmouthed. The vision laughed again, a merry sound which touched my soul and taunted it with what could have been, what might have been. Then she was gone, my beautiful queen of the night!

I stood for a while leaning against that sycamore trying to control my breathing, the pounding of my heart. I had glimpsed beauty before, the eyecatching elegance of the temple girls, but this was different. At the time I wondered who she was. Tuthmosis had sisters but she couldn’t be one of these. I reckoned she must have been in her seventeenth or eighteenth summer, perhaps a little younger. Her skin looked golden, not as dark as Queen Tiye’s, so was she from beyond Egypt’s borders? Yet the way she walked and acted showed her to be very much at home with the most imperious of Egypt’s queens. The gates of the Pavilion closed. I heard the bar falling into place. Were they visiting the Veiled One? Yet he was absent, drinking and carousing with us or pretending to. Was she the reason he looked so glum, so downcast? I turned and walked slowly back. The noise from the eating-house had grown, drowning the musicians and the singers. The door was flung open and Sobeck, followed by Maya, came staggering out. They brushed by me lost in their own tangle of words and crossed to a grassy verge where they both urinated cackling with laughter, sharing some obscene joke before lurching back.

‘Sobeck.’ I caught his arm. He turned blearily.

‘What is it, Baboon?’ He swayed on his feet.

Maya, just as drunk, tried to hold him straight.

‘Sobeck, you’ve been careful since your return?’

My glimpse of that beautiful woman had provoked anxieties about my companion, the nearest I had to a friend. ‘Sobeck, you’ve been nowhere near the imperial harem?’

Sobeck tried to speak, tapped the corner of his nose and, bawling with laughter, allowed Maya to take him back to the door.

I walked a little further. Huy came out with two hesets, disappearing into the darkness and soon the silence was broken with cries and pretty screams. The door opened again. I turned, half-expecting the Veiled One, but Hotep came out, fan in one hand, a strangely carved amethyst goblet cupped in the other. He held this up and toasted me, acknowledging my bow.

‘It has a sacred emerald in it.’ He drained the cup and pushed it towards me, twisting it so I caught the light of the emerald within. ‘A sure protection,’ he murmured, drawing closer, ‘against poison. It changes colour if any foul potion or substance is mixed with the wine.’

‘You fear assassination?’

I was still immersed in the vision of beauty I had seen, impatient at having to talk to anyone. Hotep’s patrician face creased into a smile. ‘Power and murder walk hand-to-hand.’

‘A fine celebration.’ I gestured towards the light-filled windows through which the candles and oil lamps glowed. ‘Colonel Perra would have been very impressed.’

‘His corpse was never found.’ Hotep slipped the fan into a small pocket in his robe and caressed the cup. ‘The men responsible were impaled, their sons sold into slavery. Those who survived were brought back to Thebes.’

‘How many?’

‘Only a few survived the march,’ Hotep grinned. ‘And their skulls were shattered by the Mighty One at the Temple of Montu. You must remember, you were there?’

Of course I, along with the other Maryannou, had lined up at the foot of the temple steps. At their top the Divine One, the Magnificent Person, slouched on his throne, his protuberant belly and breasts easy to see beneath his nenes, the Coat of Glory, Pharaoh in all his magnificence! He wore the blue war-crown of Egypt and sat under a gold, silver-tasselled awning. Next to him on a stool sat Queen Tiye in a cloak of shimmering feathers — the Coat of a Million Colours as it was called. On her head the vulture head-dress was stiff, white plumes either side of the sun disc. Around the imperial couple, in all their glory of gauffered robes, glossy animals’ skins, shawls and kilts, clustered the leading priests, courtiers and army officers. The Magnificent One, throned in judgement and grasping the flail and the rod, was ready to dispense judgement to those who had dared lift their heads against his sandal. From where I stood I had a clear view of the Magnificent One’s sagging cheeks, deepset eyes and pouting lips, which moved incessantly as he tried to soothe the abscesses in his gums.

The courtyard behind us was packed with notables, skins oiled and perfumed, their fragrance mingling with the scents of flower-baskets and jars of burning perfume. They had all come to see judgement dispensed and the blood flow. Trumpets blew, standards were raised and lowered as the Kushite prisoners, arms and hands bound behind them, mouths gagged, were forced up the steps. The Magnificent One rose, grasped his great war-club with its oval-shaped head. The prisoners knelt along the top step. The Magnificent One, assisted by Hotep, moved down the line. He grasped a tuft of hair specially prepared on each prisoner’s head; as he did so, more trumpets blared. The club was swung, skulls were shattered amidst muffled screams and the steps ran with blood as the crowd hailed the might of their Pharaoh. Colonel Perra’s death was being avenged.

‘It’s a pity his corpse,’ Hotep broke into my reverie, ‘and that of the others were never found.’

I recalled that Kushite in the Veiled One’s tent, arm sliced off, blood gushing, body jerking, the guttural whisper crying out those strange Egyptian words: ‘Deret nebeb Ra.’

‘What are you thinking, Mahu?’

‘Nothing,’ I lied. Before I left that tent the Veiled One had sworn me to silence. I studied the cunning face of this hollow-eyed patrician. ‘Did you come out especially to show me your goblet?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘So what do you want with me?’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Hotep replied. ‘What are we to do with Mahu, Baboon of the South? The army, the writing office? What about the House of Secrets?’ He passed the cup from hand to hand. He was about to continue when the silence was broken by more cries of pleasure.

‘Huy has slaked his thirst for soft flesh.’ Hotep glanced at me. ‘And how will we slake your ambitions, Mahu?’ He wagged a finger in my face. ‘But come, let’s return, the formal addresses have to be given. Huy!’ he called into the darkness. ‘Your host awaits you.’

We returned to the stuffy perfumed eating-house. Huy, all dishevelled, staggered in to be greeted by jeers except from Maya who glared at him like a jealous girl. Horemheb, festooned with his honours, rose to his feet, banging the rim of his goblet on the table. He held his cup towards Hotep and the two Princes.

‘May the grace of Amun be in your hearts,’ he intoned. ‘May he grant you all a happy old age and that you pass your life in joy and honour, your lips healthy, your limbs strong.’

I saw the Veiled One pull a face.

‘Let your eyes be keen,’ Horemheb continued, ‘your raiment of the finest linen. May you ride in a chariot, a gold-handled whip in your hands, drawn by colts from Syria whilst slaves run before you to clear your way …’

On and on Horemheb prattled.

‘May your scent-maker spread over you the odour of sweet resin and your chief gardener offer you garlands. May you remain secure whilst your enemies are brought low. The evil men impute to you does not exist. You speak with true voice and are honoured among the gods.’

Horemheb then raised his goblet in toast and all followed suit. Hotep delivered a pretty reply. Toasts were drunk, after which God’s Father rose and, followed by a rather drunk Tuthmosis, one arm over his enigmatic brother’s shoulder, made his farewell to the men. For a while the girls entertained us and a blind harpist sang a sad song:

‘Men’s bodies have returned to the earth since the beginning of time and their place taken by fresh generations.

As long as Ra rises each morning so long will men beget and women conceive and through their nostrils they will breathe.

But, one day, each one that is born must go to his appointed place so let’s make it a happy day.

May we be granted the finest of perfumes, lilies and garlands to bedeck our shoulders. Let us be true of voice …’

We cheered the singer to the roof then he, the hesets and the musicians were all dismissed with gifts and assurances of friendship. The children of the Kap, the Unit of Horus the Glorious, were alone for the last time. We sat in silence for a while, each recalling the passing time, invoking memories of our first days there. Meryre led the recitation of past events and we were on the brink of becoming maudlin when Rameses banged his dagger against the wall.

‘The wager was offered,’ he shouted, his snake-eyes glittering with malice. ‘The wager was offered. Has it been taken?’

Horemheb was smiling. I could have cursed both of them. In their eyes Sobeck was a rival, a man as warlike and brave as both of them, which is why Rameses had baited the trap.

‘Well, have you?’ Huy glared blearily down the room at Sobeck. I glanced at my companion. He thrust Maya away and fumbled in a leather bag concealed beneath the table. He scrambled to his feet and held up a statue of pure alabaster on a gold and silver base.

‘The statue of Ishtar,’ he bawled.

Horemheb and Rameses clapped.

‘I have won the wager,’ Sobeck boasted.

I closed my eyes. Sobeck had returned from The Cauldron eager for perfumed flesh and to renew his acquaintance with Neithas, one of the lesser concubines in the imperial harem but still one of the Royal Ornaments, forbidden even to be touched by another man. One night, shortly after our return from the war, Sobeck had boasted about the favours Neithas had granted, and regaled us with stories about the Magnificent One’s sexual appetite. How sometimes he liked to be beaten and whipped or taken in the mouth. We had listened greedily to the lurid stories of the harem and the Magnificent One’s private pleasures. Rameses had then sprung his trap. He accused Sobeck of lying and taunted him to produce proof. Now I knew Sobeck met Neithas in the olive grove where Weni used to slurp his beer, nevertheless I kept silent as Sobeck protested about his prowess and said that he spoke with true voice. Rameses, however, refused to be mollified: he accused Sobeck of lying, provoking him to prove his conquest. Sobeck had agreed. He promised that one of the precious statues of Ishtar, kept in wall niches either side of the doorway to the Royal Harem would be his. Only a Royal Ornament, a concubine of the Magnificent One, was allowed to hold these.

‘Well, Rameses?’ Sobeck shouted. ‘I have the statue and each of you must provide me with a horse, that was the wager. I promised I would show you tonight and so I have!’

We all nodded in agreement, yet Huy, Meryre and Pentju, drunk as they were, realised how dangerous this conversation had become.

‘We didn’t think you’d do it,’ Rameses purred like a cat. ‘We thought you were only joking.’

Maya, one hand on Sobeck’s knee, was staring up at him.

‘Aren’t you jealous, Maya?’ Horemheb called.

Maya leaped to his feet and ran crying into the darkness followed by cat-calls and jeers. Sobeck, carrying the statue, followed whilst the rest of us returned to our drinking.

I slept late into the following day, well past noon and woke to find the dormitory empty. My companions had either risen early or returned to their own homes in the city. I shaved and bathed, going out to sit on Weni’s bench in the courtyard. The rest of the Residence was deserted. My throat was dry so I drew a pot of spring water from the well. I sat in the shade wetting my throat and hoping the pain in my head would go. The events of last night’s banquet came and went but I was really trying to recall that beautiful face. I was in the Valley of Ghosts, memories clustered all around me. Weni cradling his beer jug, the priests armed with their sticks, watching us write. Horemheb and Rameses as close as twins, heads together. In the past I had chosen to be alone, an hour here or a day there, but now I was alone because I was by myself, lonely, bereft of friends and family. I thought of going down to the city, to visit the Mistresses of the Temples, but the previous evening’s celebrations had provided enough excitement.

I kept recalling the Beautiful Woman. I wanted to see her again, gaze on her smile, rejoice in her presence, listen to her voice. I felt no embarrassment. I was more pleased not only because of what I had seen but because of what I felt. The others in the Kap used to ask me if I had a heart, and that always recalled the chilling words of the fortune-teller about Aunt Isithia. I remembered my father striding in and out without a second glance for me. Was I cut from the same wedge? A man with no feeling? The Woman of Beauty had changed all that. I spent that entire day in the Residence sleeping or wandering around. One or two servants came to clear up and move things in or out. They provided me with a little food. I was very concerned that none of the others had returned, though when I checked, the coffers and chests were empty. They had taken everything with them, leaving no trace of their long stay.

The day dragged on. I was sunning myself against the wall when the conch horn wailed, followed by the creak of wheels and the lowing of oxen beyond the walls. I slipped on a robe and quietly left, not through the main gate but a side entrance. I kept to the trees which lined the path down to the olive grove — what I always called Weni’s place. Perhaps it was my military training, those long searing weeks out in The Cauldron, but I sensed danger so I kept in the shadows.

As I waited and watched, a sombre procession came into view. I turned cold with fear at the sight of the executioner of Thebes, a jackal mask over his face, the nafdet, the symbol of office over his shoulder, a long black pole with a gleaming axe-head. He was dressed in a red leather jerkin with kilt and boots of the same colour. I had glimpsed him before on my rare visits to the city when the Jackal Man, as they called him, carried out Pharaoh’s justice along the quayside near the Great Mooring Place. Behind him trooped a line of acolytes, similarly dressed. A frightened, wizened lector priest gabbled out prayers. Two carts, guarded by Libyan mercenaries in black animal skins, grotesque masks over their faces, came next. Each cart bore a stout wooden cage. In the first a young, dark-skinned woman, naked but for a leather skirt, crouched in terror, hands bound before her, a gag in her mouth, eyes bright with fright. In the second cage prowled a large feral cat, thin-ribbed but vicious and snarling with hunger. On the first cage was pinned a scrawled notice: Neithas, Adulteress, Traitor.

I slipped back to the Residence. I knew what was about to happen. Sobeck’s lover had been caught. She would be slung in the cage in the olive grove where she had betrayed the Magnificent One. The cat would be put in with her. I crouched like a frightened boy in the dormitory even as the hideous screams began. They continued till late in the evening when the poor woman eventually died, or the executioner took pity and dealt her a killing blow. I was more frightened than I ever had been in The Cauldron. Where was Sobeck? How had Neithas been discovered? Was it Rameses who had informed on them? Horemheb? Or the spy in our midst? I recalled Sobeck regaling us with those juicy morsels of gossip about the sexual prowess, or lack of it, of the Magnificent One. If the court learned that, every one of us risked a hideous death. Is that why the Residence was deserted? Had my companions been arrested? I drank more wine than I should have done and fell asleep, only to be aroused roughly by Huy holding an oil lamp, his face riven with anxiety.

‘You’ve heard the news?’

‘And the screams,’ I replied. ‘Where is Sobeck?’

‘They were both caught returning to the palace,’ Huy replied. ‘Judged and sentenced immediately by the High Priest of the Temple of Amun-Ra.’

‘And Sobeck?’

‘In the Chains,’ — a reference to the palace prison. ‘He has been sentenced to be put to the Wood.’

‘Exposed!’ I gasped, struggling to sit up. ‘Sobeck out in the desert?’

‘The Magnificent One was furious.’

‘Do they know about us?’

Huy shook his head. ‘The others have sent me. They want you to visit Sobeck. You are his companion.’

I argued but at last agreed. Huy made to leave.

‘One other thing,’ I called. He came back. ‘If they were caught red-handed,’ I swung my legs off the bed, ‘then there must be a spy amongst us!’

Huy just stared at me and left.

I dressed in a gauffered robe, my colours and decorations clear to see. They gave me safe passage across the palace grounds. The Chain’s cellars and dungeons lay below the royal barracks. Again the guards let me through down into a stiflingly hot, sombre corridor. A man and woman, cloaked and hooded, their lined faces wet with tears, pushed by me. I guessed they were Sobeck’s parents. The masked gaolers under the command of one of the executioner’s assistants, a tattoo of the nafdet high on his right arm, did not question me but opened the door to Sobeck’s cell, a small stone room with a narrow vent high in the wall. On the far side, a slab of raised, rough stone served as bed, table and stool. The ground underfoot was mud-strewn and smelt like a midden-heap. Two lamps of cheap oil glowed beneath the garish curses drawn on the wall for the benefit of prisoners, about how the anger of Amun-Ra would consume them:

‘He will give you over to the King’s fire and the day of his wrath. His uraeus will shoot out flames at your face. Your flesh will be destroyed, your body consumed. You will become like a serpent of the Underworld on the morning of New Year’s Day, dead and rotting. No more will you be able to pursue the offerings of the dead. No one will pour out water for you. Your sons will not succeed to their inheritance. Your wives will be violated before your very eyes. On the day of slaughter you will be put to the sword. Your body will shrivel with waste for you shall be hungry and yet have no bread.’

Sobeck, dressed only in a loincloth, sat beneath this hideous scrawling. He was dirty, his face and body covered with cuts and bruises. He grinned and spread his hands.

‘Why Mahu, Baboon of the South. I would like to welcome you.’ He stared round. ‘I never thought I’d regret leaving The Cauldron.’

I could only stand and stare.

‘Silent as ever,’ he breathed. ‘What have you come for, Mahu? To see if I have talked?’ He pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Tell them not to worry, especially those two vipers Horemheb and Rameses. I was drunk.’ He rubbed his face. ‘I was stupid.’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘Neithas?’

‘She’s dead. I heard her die.’

Sobeck bent his head, shoulders shaking.

‘To be put to the Wood. Ah well.’ He lifted his head, tears in his eyes. ‘You’ve heard the poem, Mahu?

He smiled grimly. ‘But that wouldn’t affect you, would it, Mahu? You have no heart, to live and love.’

I recalled that beautiful face. ‘I might have.’

‘They wanted the statue back,’ Sobeck continued as if he wasn’t listening, ‘but I was so drunk and Neithas was so terrified she didn’t tell me so I don’t know where it is.’ He got up, walked towards me and put his hands on my shoulders. ‘I was a good companion, Mahu?’

‘You were.’

‘Look at you,’ he breathed, ‘black tight hair, a handsome face and those deepset eyes like a monkey on a branch.’ He let his hands fall away. ‘Will you help me?’

‘How can I? What influence do I have?’

‘The statue!’ Sobeck went back and lay down on his bed. ‘Find the statue, then do what you can!’

When I left the Chains and returned to the Residence, it was late afternoon. I sat in the porticoed entrance trying to recall what Sobeck and his lover would have done. Undoubtedly they were betrayed. Justice would have been fast as well as terrible. The Magnificent One would not wish to make a great show of being betrayed by a Royal Ornament.

A sycamore tree at the far side of the Residence caught my eye and I recalled Aunt Isithia’s garden, Dedi singing beneath the tree, bringing out the piece of pot-shard on which my aunt had scrawled her curse. I got to my feet and went into the olive grove. Both the cages had been removed but the reek of death remained; splashes of blood still stained the grass, rutted and marked by the carts. Where, I wondered, would I take a young woman for courting and have my pleasure?

I went deeper into the olive grove, vigilant for any soft shady grass which could be used as a couch, away from the path but not too far, not in the dead of night when the two secret lovers would not dare use an oil lamp or carry a flaring torch. A little brook ran through the grove to feed a small pool nearby. Eventually I found the place I was looking for. The grass was well-shaded from the sun by the thick branches of the olive tree. The lovers had drunk from the rivulet whilst they had left pathetic traces of their stay, small beads and a soiled linen cloth smelling of perfume. I went round the olive tree, dug at the soft, recently-turned earth and plucked out the statue.

The following morning, dressed in all my glory as I termed it, I presented myself at the gates of the Silent Pavilion. Imri allowed me through into the courtyard where servants and retainers were lounging. A chariot had been unhitched and a palanquin rested on the ground. My heart leaped. Had the Beautiful One returned?

‘My Lord is with his mother and His Excellency God’s Father, Hotep,’ Imri explained. He led me across the courtyard, around the side of the house and into a well-watered fertile paradise of a garden. The flowerbeds had been enriched with black Canaan soil in which flowers of every description blossomed to give off their fragrance. Small pools with lush reeds and water plants glittered next to shady alcoves and herb plots as well as a small lawn where a baby gazelle grazed. Behind a screen of sycamore trees stood a brilliantly coloured pavilion approached by steps, its door panels pulled aside to catch the sun. The Veiled One was sitting at a table within, his mother on his right, Hotep on his left, laughing and talking, picking at the silver dishes laid before him. Imri told me to wait and, going ahead, knelt at the foot of the steps, nose to the ground. I couldn’t catch his words. The Veiled One ignored him, staring at me, a faint smile on his face. Imri waved me forward. The Veiled One threw me a cushion on which to kneel. I caught this and made obeisance. Hotep lifted his cup so as to shield the lower part of his face. I caught the Queen staring curiously at me so again my head went down.

‘Very good, very good, Baboon of the South,’ the Veiled One laughed. ‘You may now raise your head and look on our faces.’

The first one I stared at was Queen Tiye, a woman I had glimpsed from afar. She was of middle stature, her body rather thin but very elegant. She was dressed in robes of purest white, an embroidered shawl across her shoulders, a shimmering necklace of cornelian around her throat. On each of her fingers sparkled a precious gem. Silver bangles clattered on her wrists. It was her face which held me: very feminine, with strong, laughing eyes but a firm mouth, lips slightly drooping as if in disapproval. She’d kept her own hair; this was neatly dressed and caught up under a shimmering net of mother-of-pearl. She delicately popped a piece of meat into her mouth.

‘Is this the one, my son?’

‘The Baboon of the South,’ the Veiled One agreed, ‘son of Seostris, a Colonel of the Medjay who performed great service …’ the Veiled One glanced at me sardonically, ‘in the Eastern Deserts. Why, Baboon, have you come bounding up my garden path?’ The words were harsh but the voice was soft. Again I bowed.

‘None of that,’ the Veiled One reproached me. ‘You’ll give me indigestion. One thing I can’t stand are bobbing priests.’ He paused. ‘Or baboons.’

‘Your friend has been taken up.’ Hotep lowered his cup. ‘Sobeck is to go to the Wood for daring to raise his eyes, let alone anything else,’ God’s Father sniggered, ‘against a Royal Ornament.’

The Veiled One clicked his tongue in mock disapproval though I could see both he and his mother were amused by what had happened.

‘The girl is dead,’ I declared.

‘And so she should be.’ The Great Queen’s voice was sharp and clipped. I caught the trace of a faint accent. ‘If you drink the wine and eat the salt of the Royal House you do not share it with commoners.’

‘She died brutally,’ the Veiled One remarked. ‘I went down to see what was left of her in the cage, and her body was badly mauled. They killed the cat with arrows.’

Tiye waved her fingers, a sign she had heard enough.

‘So, if you haven’t come for the girl,’ the Veiled One teased, ‘you must be here to plead for Sobeck?’

‘I had a dream last night, my lord.’

The smiled faded from the royal faces.

‘I was down by the Nile, it was dark and swollen. The sky had turned red; I realised I was going to be visited by a god.’

‘Did you really?’ The Veiled One moved his head slightly to the side, a look of mock astonishment on that strange face. ‘And what was your dream, Baboon?’

‘I saw the waters part. A huge crocodile emerged with the Jackal-Headed One riding on its back.’

The Veiled One’s head went down. He was laughing, though both the Queen and Hotep remained grim-faced.

‘He told me where to find the stolen statue of Ishtar,’ I continued in a rush. ‘I was to dig it up, return it to the Magnificent One and seek his pardon for the sins of Sobeck.’

‘And you dug it up, of course.’ Hotep held his cup in one hand and waved the other airily.

‘I did. In the olive grove where they met.’ I produced the statue from a sash in my robe, lifting it so it gleamed in the light.

‘You could be arrested,’ Hotep remarked lazily. ‘They might say you are an accomplice.’

‘Then I shall call witnesses, Your Excellency. They will report that I have no friends or accomplices.’

The Veiled One pointed a long spidery finger. ‘And you discovered the statue? Leave it there on the steps.’

‘Why have you come here?’ Queen Tiye demanded. ‘Why not take it immediately to the court?’

‘I am not favoured to look on the Divine One’s face, Your Majesty.’

‘So you are going to ask my son to do it for you?’

I didn’t reply but stared at the Veiled One. He looked angry.

‘My lord?’ I begged.

‘Sobeck violated my father’s honour. The power of Pharaoh is not to be mocked.’ He flicked his fingers. ‘Withdraw and await.’

I bowed my head in surprise, fighting hard to control my temper. I recalled that pavilion in The Cauldron, the two Kushites bursting into the tent, spears eager for his blood. I rose, backed away and joined the noisy throng in the courtyard. They were watching a monkey perform tricks; the little fellow reminded me of Bes. I must have been there an hour when Imri returned and grasped me by the shoulder. As I got to my feet, his grip tightened.

‘You really should have a rope round your neck,’ he whispered. Then his face broke into a smile. A patch now covered the hole where his right eye had been; the white of the good one was slightly yellow and flecked with blood.

‘You never asked,’ he rapped out, ‘where I lost my eye?’

‘I was never really interested.’

‘Out in the Red Lands.’ Imri ignored the insult. ‘A stone from a sling found its mark in me — and that’s why I am here, Mahu. Only those with disfigured faces guard my master.’

‘And?’ I asked, trying to break free from his grasp.

‘Why are you here, Mahu?’ he asked softly. ‘What is it between you and my master?’

‘Are you asking because of him or because of yourself?’

Imri relaxed his grip and patted my cheek gently as a father would a child. ‘I am just curious. But come, His Excellency wishes to talk to you.’

Hotep was sitting on a turfed seat just within the garden gate and, surprisingly, Crown Prince Tuthmosis sat beside him. I sank to my knees. Hotep did not tell me to rise. I glanced up. Tuthmosis’ face was red with anger. He glared at me as if I was an enemy and I knew my request had made him mine. He swung his foot and kicked me viciously in the side.

‘You plead for a criminal?’

‘I plead for a friend.’

‘Who happens to be a criminal. Look at me, Baboon.’

I stared up. Tuthmosis leaned forward, his face a few inches from mine. I saw the blood beat in his brow, the twist of his mouth. I was aware of the wine on his breath and the anger in his soul. I also noticed something else: just on the corner of his mouth, a fleck of his blood as if he had cut his lip or bitten his tongue.

‘My father,’ Tuthmosis swallowed hard as if fighting for breath, ‘my father’s dignity, the Magnificent One …’ He coughed, holding a small napkin to his mouth; when he took it away I glimpsed the red stains. ‘Sobeck should have been put in a cage with his whore,’ he rasped, dabbing at his mouth.

‘Sobeck is the guilty one,’ Hotep said softly, ‘not Mahu. He has simply come to plead for his friend. I have used my good offices to achieve two things.’ He leaned forward, fingers splayed, as if counting for a child. ‘Listen, Mahu. First Sobeck will not go to the Wood. He will be exiled to an oasis in the Western Desert. You know what that means?’

Oh I knew! A few palm trees, some figs, and water, but not enough to sustain a man for ever or give him the strength to try and break out across the desert. If he did, the Sand Dwellers or the Desert Wanderers, if not the Libyans, would catch him and flay him alive.

I closed my eyes and nodded in thanks. All I had achieved was to send Sobeck to a living death. Perhaps it would have been faster to have asked for a knife to the throat or sword-cut to the heart.

‘Secondly Mahu,’ Hotep’s eyes glinted in amusement, ‘you are to be given a commission in the Medjay. You are to go back to the Western Desert.’ He paused. ‘Finally,’ his hand fell away, ‘you are to leave now!’

I muttered my thanks and bowed, my face red with embarrassment. I rose and walked through the courtyard, ignoring Imri’s shout, my heart seething with anger. Yet even as I did so, I recalled the blood on that napkin. What was it Aunt Isithia used to say?

Ah yes. ‘He who coughs blood coughs life.’