An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 6

The harpist plucked at the strings, sending out the bittersweet sound. His shaven head went down, even as we clapped and cheered at the beauty of his song about the glory of love. The Veiled One’s hall had been transformed for this feast, lit by scented candles and oil glowing in precious alabaster jars. We sat at our ebony-inlaid table which groaned under a splendid banquet: fish, fried and grilled in a sauce of olive oil, onions, hazelnuts, salt and freshly ground black pepper; white fish, their firm flesh coated with the sauce of pine nuts, almonds and garlic cloves; beef and lamb covered with chick peas and cumin; tajeens of beef and lamb in artichoke. Our goblets had been constantly filled with the finest wines.

The Veiled One had arranged the tables in a circle, seating me on his right hand, his brother Tuthmosis on his left. All the others were there. He had even arranged an empty cushion for Sobeck and had plates and goblets laid before it. Tuthmosis had vehemently objected but the Veiled One had laughed and insisted that even at a feast like this the ghosts were welcome. Each of us had a heset, a temple girl. Clad in thin, gauze-like gowns, their every movement was emphasised by the tinkling bracelets on their ankles and wrists; their long elegant fingers glittered with rings, their nails were painted a deep purple. They were there to entertain, to flatter, to soothe our hearts and satisfy our every whim.

At first the banquet had been difficult. This was the first time we had all met since Sobeck’s banishment. Horemheb and Rameses were resplendent in their officers’ uniforms, Captain and Lieutenant of the Sacred Band. They wore round their necks a collar proclaiming their membership of the most redoubtable regiments in all the hosts of Egypt. Huy looked more relaxed in his splendid robes. Pentju and Meryre hadn’t changed much but sat together, whispering across the girl in between. Maya looked distinctly uncomfortable in a perfume-drenched wig, his face laced with sweat, although he was as charming and vivacious as ever. The Veiled One was a perfect host. The setting of a place for Sobeck, the hosting of such a party and the invitation to Tuthmosis to join them were all part of a studied insult to his own father. He’d whispered this to me as I helped him dress in the cool of the evening.

‘I want my father to know, Mahu, that I will not remain silent, that I will not be kept for ever in the shadows and corners.’

The temple girls were trained courtesans but even they paused to study this strange-looking Prince. They would return to their temples, taking their stories with them: a message to the priests that the Divine One’s second son was not content to hide like a mouse or pass like a shadow through the courts of Egypt. It had been four days since that meeting with his mother in this very hall. The Veiled One had not discussed the matter again but I knew what he plotted, what he wished me to do. He had placed the swollen-throated Uraeus, the spitting-cobra of Egypt around his forehead.

‘The snake knows when to strike, Mahu.’ He turned from the glittering piece of polished silver which served as a mirror. ‘And so do you.’

For most of the meal my master had ignored me. Now and again he would whisper instructions and I would raise my hand for the steward of the feast or to summon Imri who guarded the entrance. The Veiled One became engaged in deep conversation with his brother. Only once did I catch fragments of their talk. Tuthmosis was urging his brother to be prudent, not to catch his father’s eye or incur his anger.

‘I already have.’ The Veiled One picked up his goblet and toasted his brother, then refused to answer the spate of insistent questions which followed.

I had mixed water with my wine but the heat and warmth, and the good food had made me sleepy. I was prodded awake by a sharp elbow thrust, and glanced quickly around. Maya was leaving the hall, alone. Horemheb and Rameses were showing off to their girls. Huy, cradling his wine cup, sat on the cushions, smiling beatifically to himself. Meryre was anxiously interrogating Pentju, probably questioning him about some ailment he suffered. Even as a boy Meryre, for all his confidence in the gods, had a secret dread of disease and infection. I waited my moment, excused myself, winked at Imri and followed Maya out into the darkness. I looked round. He was not in the courtyard so I went across through the half-open side gate. I paused and, from the sounds, I gathered Maya was relieving himself. I waited. He came stumbling back, stepped out onto the pathway and glanced up.

‘Why, Mahu?’

‘Why, Maya?’ I smiled. ‘I wish to have words with you.’ I put my arm protectively across his shoulder, turned him round and walked back to the small, tile-edged pool where the lotus blossom floated gently in the moonlight. ‘Sit down, sit down.’

He did so unwillingly, muscles tensed. ‘What do you want, Mahu?’

‘You are in the House of Scribes?’ I asked.

‘No, no.’ He spread his feet, rubbed his hands together, shoulders hunched. ‘I work in the House of Secrets.’

‘Ah, the place of spies! What do you do there?’

‘We gather reports from all over Egypt and beyond our borders; from merchants, traders, sailors, our allies in Canaan, our servants in Kush, our envoys in Punt.’

‘Very good. And you are doing well?’

‘Look, Mahu, I don’t need your sarcasm.’

‘But you do need your life.’ I took the dagger concealed beneath my robe and pushed the tip against his fleshy throat.

‘You’ve drunk too much.’ He made to rise.

I pressed the point harder. Maya yelped and sat back.

‘Sobeck,’ I insisted. ‘Did you betray my friend’s meetings with his loved one in the olive grove? You know I watched her die, or at least heard her screams. It was hideous! I visited Sobeck in the Chains. He was condemned to the Wood but the Divine One relented. Now my friend and companion Sobeck is being cooked like a piece of meat in the heat of the Western Desert.’

Maya’s plump shoulders shook, and he trembled so much I thought he was having a fit. His face became contorted and he burst out crying.

‘You are a contemptible bastard, Maya! You betrayed one of your companions. Why? Because he wouldn’t lie with you? Because he wouldn’t play with the thing you’ve got between your legs?’

Maya’s sobs became uncontrollable. ‘I am sorry,’ he wailed, taking his hands away, the kohl round his eyes now running in long black streams down his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry about the girl and Sobeck. But you have it wrong, Mahu. I loved Sobeck, I always have, I always will, even though I know it’s wrong.’

Something about the petulant twist to his lips, the self-pity in that fat oiled face made me lose my temper. The knife clattered to the ground. I tore off his wig. Maya tried to resist but he was fat and never the best of soldiers; I kept him seated and forced his head back. He shouted and screamed. I put my hand across his mouth. He tried to bite me so I punched him then pushed his face beneath the water. He struggled and slid off. I stood in the pool forcing his head beneath the water, watching the bubbles break in the glorious moonlight, feeling his fat body thrash like a juicy carp caught by a hunter. All my rage bubbled, for Sobeck, for myself, for the insults I had suffered and, above all, for the dangers this man posed. Suddenly his body began to grow limp and I let go of his head. Gasping and spluttering he staggered up and cast about. I caught him by the front of his robe and pulled him up. We stood, the water almost up to our waists. Maya’s face looked frightful. I wrenched the necklace from his neck and threw it over my shoulder, hearing it clatter on the ground behind me.

‘I’m the Baboon Mahu. Do you remember why I was called that?’ I tightened my grip and pulled him closer. ‘Baboons have strong arms and wrists.’

‘You’ll go to the Wood for this,’ he spluttered.

‘I doubt it,’ I replied, ‘and if I do I’ll tell them you knew all about Sobeck as well as your love for him. Does the Master of the House of Secrets know about your private life, Maya? Do you go to the temple forecourts or into the marketplace to watch the pretty boys pass?’

Maya turned his head and spat some of the pool water out of his mouth. I let go of him, pushing him away.

‘You are right, Maya. I have no friends. But Sobeck was the nearest I ever came to it. What did he do wrong but love a girl? She was a Divine Ornament but the King of the Two Lands has more concubines than I have hairs on my head.’

‘That’s treason,’ he spluttered.

He moved away but I followed.

‘No, no, listen.’ He held a hand up. ‘I loved Sobeck, Mahu.’

There was something in his voice, the direct gaze — I knew he wasn’t lying. On the one hand he was frightened but, on the other, my natural curiosity had also been stirred.

‘Are you going to repeat the lie?’ I swallowed hard. ‘Are you going to repeat the lie that you didn’t betray them?’

‘I didn’t.’ He waded through the water. ‘Mahu, this is freezing. You don’t have to stick my head beneath the surface. I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

I grabbed him by the arm and we climbed out of the pool. Picking up his drenched wig and necklace, I thrust them into his hands.

‘I’ll let you change.’

‘I’m not going back there.’ Maya wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘I don’t like the way Horemheb and Rameses are staring at me, and I can’t stand the smell of that girl.’

I began to laugh.

‘Do I look so pathetic, Mahu?’ He turned. ‘Your knife is somewhere in the dark, isn’t it? Or you can take me back to the pool.’ He drew himself up. ‘Yes, you have got strong arms and wrists. You’ve also got the brain of a baboon. I never betrayed Sobeck, can’t you see that?’ He walked forward glimpsing the uncertainty in my face. ‘You stupid bastard!’ His beringed hand slapped my face. I didn’t flinch or retaliate.

‘You speak with true voice, Maya.’

I went and sat on the tiled edge of the pool.

‘If I had betrayed Sobeck,’ Maya followed me, clutching his robe, teeth chattering, ‘if I had betrayed Sobeck they would have asked me how I knew. We would all have been arrested. Have you got that through your thick skull?’

‘But you were a spy,’ I countered, ‘in the Kap. You discovered that I visited the Veiled One. You knew I had been entertained by him.’

‘What?’ Maya drew back. ‘Oh yes, I knew there was something between you and that grotesque. Don’t get angry with me, Mahu, that’s what he is. That’s why we had this party, isn’t it? So you could bully me? So he can show his face off and pretend he’s not a recluse? I never told anyone anything about you, Mahu. Who cares anyway?’

‘So the spy must be someone else?’ I countered. Try as I might, I couldn’t keep the stammer out of my voice.

‘Is that true, Mahu? Who will you have out next? Try and push Horemheb’s head beneath the water. He’ll cut your balls off. Or if he doesn’t, his trained viper will. Can’t you see, nobody in the Kap would tell the Divine One about Sobeck! I work in the House of Secrets, where it has been known for a messenger to be killed for the message he carries.’

I stared in disbelief. ‘Then who was it? They even knew exactly where Sobeck and the girl lay, the very part of the grove. Perhaps Weni was the spy?’

‘Weni?’ Maya started to laugh. ‘He didn’t know his crotch from his arse! Oh, in the early days he was good but in the end he couldn’t roll out of bed without a beer jug being thrust under his nose. Sobeck told me about the way you visited the pool. Do you think you know everything, Baboon? We all know why Weni died. He didn’t stumble or fall. He made fun of that grotesque and paid with his life.’ Maya clambered to his feet and, gathering as much of his dignity as he could, walked down the path toward the postern gate. He paused, head down and even from where I sat in the poor light I could tell he was crying. He turned and came back. This time the tears were more dignified.

‘Shall I tell you why I came here tonight? Do you think I wanted to be here? I came to see you, you stupid Baboon! We shared something in common — Sobeck. He liked you, even though he claimed you had no soul. I told him he was wrong, but in the end he was proved right. I came because I thought you might be my friend. I also came to thank you. Oh, the story is well-known. How you knelt at the feet of the Veiled One and begged for Sobeck’s life. You stupid, monkey-faced bastard,’ he spat out. ‘I came to thank you!’ He turned and walked away.

‘Maya!’

I hurried after him. He paused but didn’t look round.

‘Maya, I was raised by a witch. I had no friends. I was brought to the Kap because my aunt couldn’t stand me. You and the rest poked and bullied me. True, I gave as good as I got, but Sobeck was different. He was betrayed — don’t doubt that. The lovers were caught red-handed going back to the palace. The guards knew where they met.’

‘Oh, by the way,’ Maya interrupted, speaking over his shoulder, ‘you mentioned Weni. He was dead long before Sobeck and his playmate used to meet in the grove.’

‘I am sorry, Maya. For the first time in my life, I am apologising. I was wrong.’

I thought he’d ignore me but he sighed, turned round and came back, hand extended.

‘Mahu.’

I clasped his hand.

‘Mahu, I am still in your debt. I couldn’t believe what I heard, that you pleaded for Sobeck’s life. I couldn’t do that nor could the rest. I won’t forget that. I’ll never be your friend but I will be your ally. Moreover, if you are looking for a spy then don’t look amongst the children of the Kap.’ He shook his wet robes. ‘Give my apologies to your master and the rest. Tell them I feel slightly sick and wish to go home.’

He plodded away. I went through a side door up to my own chamber. My robe was dishevelled, the bracelet I had worn was now in the pool. I remembered the dagger and went down into the darkness to recover it.

‘Is everything all right?’

I whirled round.

‘Are you well, Mahu?’

Imri, sword drawn, stood under the outstretched branches of a sycamore tree.

‘I’m well,’ I called back. ‘I shall be with you shortly.’

I returned to my chamber, stripped myself naked and cleaned myself with a cloth. I refused to wear a wig for such occasions. I dried my hair cropped close to my head, cleaned my face, dabbing fresh black kohl under my eyes, and put a pair of sandals on my feet to hide the dirt between my toes. I fumbled in my jewellery box to replace the bracelet.

When I rejoined the feast, nobody commented on how long I had been away or the whereabouts of Maya. Huy was now busy with a girl. Horemheb and Rameses had already exchanged their partners. The Veiled One was sipping at his cup. By the empty cushions on his left, and the look on his face, his brother had left, not on the best of terms. I eased myself onto the cushions, picked up a piece of grilled chicken and chewed it carefully.

‘Maya won’t be returning?’ the Veiled One whispered.

‘No.’ I raised my cup to hide my face. ‘Maya is an ally, not a spy.’ The Veiled One stiffened.

I glanced quickly around. The soft plucking of the strings of the musicians and the noisy merriment hid our conversation.

‘When we first met, Master, in the grove, whom did you tell?’

‘Why, Mahu, no one except my mother. From that day you were marked.’

‘Yet Hotep knew. He taunted me with the knowledge.’

The Veiled One drank greedily from his cup; his sallow face became flushed. ‘Think, Mahu,’ he urged.

I closed my eyes. I recalled sitting in the glade, the journey to the house, poor Sobeck slipping through the trees, hand in hand with his illicit love. Both the place where I had first met the Veiled One and the olive grove lay between the Silent Pavilion and the House of Residence. My mind teemed. The Great Queen Tiye would never betray her son. Was this some game by my own master — some devious ploy? But how had he learned about Sobeck? And I recalled his outrage, not because one of his father’s concubines had betrayed him, but at the insult offered to the majesty of his office. Moreover, Sobeck’s misalliance had taken place for a considerable period of time before the army marched into Kush. So was it a matter of betrayal? Perhaps Sobeck had been glimpsed and followed — but by whom? I recalled the basket of figs, the vipers lurking there, the poisoned jar of wine and that murderous assault down near the riverside.

‘Master?’ I dipped my finger into the wine and drew the first letter. ‘I think I know the name of the spy.’

Three days later the Veiled One summoned me and Imri to a meeting out in the garden pavilion. My master was puce with rage. In his hand was a piece of papyrus which he waved in front of our faces. ‘Envoys from the Hittite King are coming to the Divine One’s court! They will be officially received by my father and my mother. Tuthmosis will be there, but I have not been invited.’ He closed the door of the pavilion, his strange eyes bright with anger. I could tell by his jerky movements and slurred speech that he had been drinking. ‘But I shall go.’

He ignored Imri’s gasp of astonishment and gestured with his hand for silence.

‘I shall go! It is but a simple walk away with my guard and household. I,’ he struck his chest, ‘am a Prince of Egypt. I have a right to wear the Uraeus. I have the sacred blood in my veins. I will not be challenged on this!’ He made a cutting movement with his hand. ‘I shall inform God’s Father Hotep,’ he spat the words out, ‘and others at my father’s court that I will make my presence known and show my face to the envoys of the Hittite King!’ He shook his fist. ‘I am not some pet monkey or a bird to be kept in a cage. My days in the shadows are over.’

A week later, on a balmy afternoon when the sun was setting slowly and the mountains to the west of Thebes were undergoing a dazzling change of colour, the Veiled One decided to go hunting. The Nile was full and lush, sweeping majestically, drenching the papyrus groves and bringing its richness to the Black Lands. A soft breeze cooled the sweat and refreshed the soul, and the eye was no longer blinded by the harsh heat and desert dust. The Veiled One decided he would hunt for birds amongst the papyrus reeds. Since his declaration a few days earlier about meeting the Hittite envoys, he had been strangely silent. Now he’d roused himself. He, Imri and I, armed with bow, arrows and throwing sticks would hunt marsh birds in the thickets along the Nile.

The Veiled One dressed simply for the occasion in a long white linen robe, tied round the middle with an embroidered sash, folded so it hung in a brilliant display of colour against the white robe. He wore a straw hat and carried his pet cat which always accompanied him on such trips. Imri advised keeping to the canals along the Nile but the Veiled One was insistent.

‘No, we’ll find more quarry on the river, particularly at this time of day. The birds are heavy and slow-moving.’

We went down. Imri had prepared an imperial skiff with seats in the stern and middle and a small throwing platform in the prow on which the hunter could stand. All three of us were expert with the pole. On this occasion the Veiled One did not immediately go along the jetty where the skiff was lashed but sat cross-legged on a rocky outcrop, face towards the sun, lips moving soundlessly, lost in his own world of prayer. I stared down at the river, still slightly swollen as it swirled by the thick groves of papyrus and overhanging willow trees. This stretch of the river was now fairly deserted, as it usually was just before evening.

‘I am ready!’ The Veiled One opened his eyes: he put on his hat, followed me down the path onto the jetty and into the skiff. As I clambered in after Imri, I noticed the Veiled One was carrying a leather bag which he placed carefully in the stern. I unloosed the rope, Imri grasped the pole and skilfully pushed the boat out into midstream. Occasionally, other craft passed us: fishermen, merchants, and an imperial barge full of soldiers and archers. These were followed by a flotilla of small craft, the statue of some god in the stern. Across the water drifted the smell of incense, the clap of hands and the faint music of the sistra and the lute.

‘Probably taking their god for a swim,’ the Veiled One laughed.

He issued instructions. We headed towards the far side of the Nile and a lush outcrop of water trees, bushes and papyrus groves. Imri looked askance at me. Such places were often the haunt of crocodiles, especially at this time of day, when they’d absorbed the heat of the sun and became more agile and aggressive in hunting their quarry. The Veiled One, however, insisted that Imri find a path through the papyrus groves. As we did so, birds burst from their cover in a brilliant display of plumage. I settled my feet on the shifting platform and loosened my throwing stick. The quarry were easy. Time and again I hit the mark and a plump body would fall in the water. Imri would pole skilfully towards it. I would scoop the bird out, make sure it was dead and place it in the basket. I heard splashes and glimpsed a crocodile, eyes and cruel snout jutting above the water.

‘Master,’ I knelt at the Veiled One’s feet, ‘this is dangerous. We have taken our tally. I think we should return.’

The Veiled One ignored me. ‘Imri, pass me the pole. I’ll show you how it can be done.’ The Veiled One gestured at me to move aside. Imri, his face laced with sweat, handed over the pole. The Veiled One held it as a soldier would a spear, rolling the edge a few inches from Imri’s chest. ‘The Hittite envoys didn’t come to Thebes.’ He picked up the leather bag. ‘Mother has written to me.’

The sweat on the back of my neck grew cold. An ominous silence quietened all sound in the papyrus grove: no more the squawk of birds or the flurry of wings. The barge swayed slightly. Imri the Kushite stood, muscular chest drenched in water, sweat and flecks of mud. He turned his head slightly, his good eye intent on the Veiled One.

‘Master?’ He spoke as if his throat and mouth were dry.

‘They went to Memphis,’ the Veiled One replied casually. ‘Quite a flurry, messengers being sent hither and thither as if my father knew I intended to make a grand entrance. You told him, didn’t you, Imri? You are my father’s spy. Just like you told him when I first met my Baboon here, that morning in the grove when I worshipped the sun. You also discovered the truth about Sobeck. The only time you leave our pavilion is to walk in the gardens. Did you glimpse that stupid girl flitting through the trees with her lover? And what about the tainted wine and the figs with the vipers in it? Or that day down near the river when the madman attacked me? You were in charge of my guard — that’s your duty! You weren’t there that day, were you? If it hadn’t been for the Baboon, I would be no more.’

The Kushite made to step forward but the Veiled One held the pole secure, moving it like a sword.

‘You are a traitor, Imri. A spy. You are an assassin who does not know how my Father protects me.’ The Veiled One’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘My true Father. He has revealed the treachery of your heart, the evil you plot, the malice you nourish.’

‘I … I …’ the Kushite stammered.

‘I … I what?’ the Veiled One mimicked. ‘What next, Imri? A knife in the dark?’

Something bumped into our barge, making it sway dangerously. I stared around. A crocodile, its eyes above the water, was floating like a log almost aware of what was happening though I knew he had been attracted by the cry of the birds and their corpses falling into the water.

‘Oh Imri,’ the Veiled One clicked his tongue. ‘Go back to where you came from!’

The pole came down but then, with surprising speed, the Veiled One thrust it forward even as Imri’s hand went to the dagger in his belt. He was too slow. The pole caught him a tremendous blow on the side of his head. He staggered, swayed and fell into the water. Immediately my master seized one of the birds we had caught, slit its twisted neck and threw it into the water even as he grasped the pole. I knelt terrified, gripping the seat as the Veiled One, feet apart, drove the pole into the water, moving the barge swiftly back through the reeds. Imri, half-stunned, flailed and screamed. The barge moved quickly but Imri recovered his wits and, aware of the danger, tried to swim, not to the bank but towards us, his dark, scarred face twisted, his one eye full of fear and fury.

The Veiled One had calculated well. Even as the barge raced away I could see the pool of blood forming on the water, the body of the duck half-submerged sending out the delicious tang of ripe meat and fresh blood. The papyrus groves seemed to heave as if some hideous beast was preparing to emerge. I glimpsed the tail of a crocodile, two, three heads emerging above the water. Imri was swimming towards us, no more than a yard away, face tight with determination. The water moved, a slight wave. Imri screamed, coming out of the water, chest well above it, then he was dragged down. Again he emerged as the crocodile seized him, turning and twisting under the water, dragging him beneath the surface. The creature was soon joined by others. The river beyond the papyrus grove was turning into a scene of frenzied activity, the water chopping, Imri’s body spinning, the emerging snouts of other crocodiles. One last carrying, hideous scream, the water turning red — and then silence.

Chanting a hymn, the Veiled One poled us further and further away from that macabre scene. At last we were midstream. He kicked me gently in the ribs. I clambered to my feet and grasped the pole, while my master retook his seat in the stern. ‘We have hunted and we have killed, Mahu,’ he murmured. ‘Now let us go home.’

Once back at the Silent Pavilion I announced the tragic death of Imri. Both my master and I adopted the usual rites of mourning, tearing our garments, throwing ashes on our heads, abstaining from food. We kept to our own quarters though we continued to meet secretly. My master betrayed no compunction or regret. ‘I prayed, Mahu, to my Father, and he, who knows all things and sees all things, even the innermost secrets of the heart, told me that Imri must die.’

I bit my tongue and curbed my curiosity. The Veiled One sitting before me ran a finger through the ash which stained his cheek.

‘You are going to ask why.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘The answer came to me in prayer.’

I did not argue. In my view Imri was a traitor, an assassin. It was simply a matter of choice between his life and ours.

‘But that is not the end, is it, Mahu? Come, don’t sit there staring at me like a wise monkey on a branch! What does your teeming brain tell you?’

‘That Imri was not alone.’

‘Why do you say that?’

We were seated in the garden of the pavilion. I went out, gazed around and came back closing the door behind me.

‘Imri never went very far. Therefore, in this group, there must be others who carried messages, who advised and counselled him.’

‘Good. Good!’

‘If one fig is rotten,’ I continued, ‘the rest of the basket is tainted.’

‘And how many are in the basket, Mahu?’

‘Eight guards, all Kushites. They have served you how long?’

The Veiled One pulled a face. ‘Seven or eight years. They will continue to serve me.’ He looked at me from under his eyebrows. ‘Why, what are you saying, Mahu? If there are further problems, you must resolve them.’ He flicked his fingers. ‘Do whatever you have to.’

I mingled with the Kushite guard. They had their own barracks and lived their life separate from the rest of the household. Battle-hardened, scarred veterans, Imri’s death had disturbed them. I joined them one night out in the courtyard where they held their own ceremony of remembrance, offering wine, fruits and meats before a crudely carved statue, chanting hymns in their own tongue. I felt uncomfortable. They demanded details on how Imri had died and, of course, I described it as a most unfortunate accident. How we had entered the papyrus grove and aroused the crocodiles. They shook their heads at this. ‘But Imri was a skilled hunter,’ one of them declared. ‘He hunted along the river many a time. He knew its waters and the ways of such beasts.’

I could only shrug and say that even the most cunning of hunters make mistakes. I elaborated the story: how both I and my master had attempted to save him but the crocodiles, made ravenous by the birds we had brought down, had decided to attack — an event not unknown along the river. Nevertheless their suspicions were aroused. I could tell by the shifting eyes, the fleeting expressions. Imri’s death would not solve the problem. He would soon be replaced by another. I studied the Kushites and the rest of our household, absorbing every detail, observing habits and relationships. The Kushites not only kept to themselves but treated the rest of the servants, the Rhinoceri, the disfigured men and women who worked in the kitchens and elsewhere, with contempt. A deep antipathy existed between these two groups. The servants had all been chosen because of their disfigurement. The Kushites, however, saw themselves as warriors, their wounds as trophies of battle; they refused to be associated with common criminals and felons. The Rhinoceri lived in their own quarters. Some were married, others led a fairly lonely existence: unless they had the Kushites to guard them, they would not dare to enter the city or even the shabby markets which did thriving business along the riverside.

One of these Rhinoceri caught my attention: their undoubted leader, a young man of about my own age called Snefru, who acted as overseer of the stables. He was burly, with deepset eyes in a hard, disfigured face, a man quick with his fists though he still had a reputation for fairness amongst the others. He attempted to keep his own self-respect and dignity, shaving his head, being careful about his appearance as if to make up for the horrid scar which ran down the centre of his face where his nose and upper lip had been. He was very good with the horses, vigilant over their health and wellbeing. Their bedding, food and water were always rigorously checked, whilst he was skilled as any horse leech in dealing with colic or a myriad of the other minor ailments horses could suffer from.

Snefru would sit, eat and drink with the rest of the men in the cool of the evening, yet before doing so, he would always ensure he changed his leather kilt for a tattered but clean robe, scrupulously washing his hands and face in water mixed with salt. At first I studied him from afar but, with our common interest in horses, I soon learned his story. He had been a scribe of the stables in a military barracks on the far side of Thebes. His father, mother and sister had all died of the fever which often rages amongst the huddled tenements of those artisans in their mud-bricked houses beyond the walls.

‘I could not afford the fees for the embalmers,’ Snefru confided, brushing the flanks of a horse. ‘And so I became desperate. I thought the stable would not miss a horse. One night I took one out and sold it to a party of Desert Wanderers. They, in turn, were stopped by the Medjay. The horse carried markings. They were killed and I was arrested. The only reason I escaped with my life,’ he spread his strong, muscular arms, ‘was because of my skill with horses.’ He gestured at the scar. ‘The executioner was clumsy. He removed my nose and part of my lip. I was banished to the village of the Rhinoceri. I stayed there for two years until royal heralds arrived. They were looking for skilled men to work here. I produced my record.’ He shrugged. ‘And I’ve been here ever since.’

‘Are you a soldier, Snefru?’ I found it hard not to look at that gruesome scar, almost as if his face was cut into two by a dark shadow. The ‘wound’ on his lip made him stumble over certain words.

‘I have served in the levy,’ he replied. ‘On one occasion I even served as a driver in a chariot.’

‘But not like the brave Kushites?’ I lowered my voice.

‘Oh, them.’ Snefru came round the horse. Crouching down, he picked up its hind leg to scrutinise the hoof.

‘Yes — what about them?’ I squatted down with him.

‘They are arrogant and cruel.’ Snefru’s eyes held mine. ‘But so are you, sir. You are the master’s shadow. Yet, over the last few days, you keep appearing here, offering me wine and bread, drawing me into conversation. You want something? I don’t know what. You have no strange tastes. You are not fascinated by my disfigurement.’ His tongue licked the corner of his mouth. ‘And now we talk about the Kushites whose Captain, Imri, died so mysteriously in the crocodile pool. What is it you want?’

I got to my feet. ‘I don’t like stables,’ I grinned, ‘but the evening is cool, the stars are out.’

Snefru joined me outside. We walked and talked and I gained the measure of him. I had chosen correctly. This was a man to be trusted, but one with bounding ambition. We paused under a tamarisk tree and I gazed up at its branches.

‘Wouldn’t you like to change your life, Snefru? To receive a pardon for your crimes, the favour of our rulers? The opportunity to be valued and respected?’

‘I hear your song,’ Snefru replied, ‘but the words are indistinct.’

‘You like the tune?’

Snefru’s face was hidden by the shadows. ‘What we are talking about here,’ he whispered, ‘is a matter of life and death, isn’t it?’

‘Can your companions be trusted?’ I remarked.

‘The other Rhinoceri?’ Snefru laughed softly. ‘Of course they can.’

‘They will do what you say?’

‘That depends on what I offer.’

I drew him deeper into the shadows and, under a starlit sky, the cool breeze whispering, the trees shifting about us, I baited the trap.

Four days later the Veiled One ordered his chariot to be prepared, pulled by his fleetest horses. With myself as the driver, the Kushites armed and ready, my master swept out into the Eastern Red Lands to hunt the ostrich, the lion and the gazelle. We had done this before and the Veiled One always insisted that his chariot must be the most splendid, the panels of the side emblazoned with red, blue and gold, eyecatching designs. The gleaming black harness of the horses was decorated with silver and gold medallions ‘bedecked like Montu’, as my master put it. He was correct, for we were going to war not to hunt.

We reached the reserve and rested during the heat of the day. Evening fell, cool and fresh, but we did not thunder after the fleet-footed ostrich or the darting gazelle. The Veiled One remained in his tent, claiming he was unwell. He despatched some of the Kushites to hunt quail, hare, any fresh meat for our cooking fire. At first we followed the usual routine: four hunters were sent out, the other four remained as guards. The sun began to set, a cold breeze blew and the sky changed as it always did before the darkness came rushing in. We built a campfire and gathered round it. I shared out the supplies we’d brought whilst my master stayed in his tent. The food was palatable but highly salted, dried meat and some bread which had already lost its freshness during the day. The four remaining Kushites were nervous as their companions had not returned.

‘They shouldn’t have been sent,’ one grumbled. ‘We are soldiers, not hunters. It is our master’s duty to provide the meat.’

I stared up at the night sky. We had camped in a small ravine, the rocks rising on either side of us. The Kushites were so nervous they were hardly aware of this break from the normal routine. We usually camped out in the open, our fires easy to see. I listened to their grumbles and poured the wine until they became more drowsy. I told them I’d be back and walked over to the Veiled One’s pavilion. He was sitting moodily, sipping from a cup; his faraway gaze hardly recognised me. I heard the sounds, the crunch on gravel, the clash of weapons. When I left the tent the deed had been done. The Kushites had drunk deeply of the drugged wine. They now lay sprawled in pools of blood forming round their gashed throats. Around them stood Snefru and his companions, armed to the teeth with sword and dagger, bows and quivers slung over their backs. They were all dressed in those reed-battered hats, protection against the sun, leather kilts and marching boots, all supplied by the Veiled One from his small armoury. I walked over and glanced down at one corpse.

‘And the other four?’ I asked.

‘Trapped and killed,’ Snefru replied. ‘It was easy enough. They divided into pairs. We heard them before they ever came into sight.’

I gazed round at the rest. All were Rhinoceri, each and every one handpicked by Snefru, from my master’s house-servants.

‘You realise what has been done,’ I declared, ‘and you know there is no going back. These are Kushite warriors, veterans from the imperial regiments, selected by the Divine One himself to guard his son, but they could not be trusted and had to pay the price. You will take their place.’ I paused. The silence of the night was rent by the coughing roar of the lion, followed by the yip of a hyena and the screech of another animal. ‘You will replace them,’ I continued. ‘You will be my master’s servants. The dust under his feet. There will be no sacred oaths, hands over the altar with fires burning and incense smouldering. You have taken the oath already in the blood of these men. Do not think the Divine One will pardon any of you who decide to betray the rest. Your death will be just as brutal as theirs: impalement on a stake.’