The Season of the Hyaena

Chapter 9

The steersman sang the famous song as our barges, festooned with streamers and garlands, nosed their way towards the quayside of Memphis. The White-Walled City’s famous docks, wharves and shipyards were known as Nereu Nefer, the Place of the Beautiful Sailing. We had passed the greenery of the city’s surrounding fields, with the pyramids in the far distance glowing pink-gold in the sunlight. Trumpets blared, cymbals clashed and the crowds along the shoreline caught the words of the steersmen and sang them back. A rain of flowers descended on our barges and the marshy odour was hidden beneath the smell of frankincense, cassia and incense. On the principal quayside, Ay, Maya, Huy and others of the Royal Circle clustered to greet us under a gold-red fringed canopy. Just before I disembarked I looked back. The host of other war barges, like great fat water beetles, were taking up their positions ready to move in.

As I climbed the steps behind the rest, I glimpsed Pentju, rather lonely; he stood at an angle, as if to keep the Prince Tutankhamun in view. The heir of Egypt’s glory stood under his own little parasol, his hand held by God’s Father, Ay. Tutankhamun was dressed in a snow-white tunic, gold-embossed sandals, silver armlets on his thin arms and a necklace of cornelian, which I thought too heavy, around his neck. Ankhesenamun, in her thick wig, a gold gorget around her throat, gauffered linen robes billowing about her, looked as beautiful as a goddess. She stood on Ay’s left, holding her grandfather’s hand, the other busy with a red and blue fan. She caught my eye and winked impishly.

Ay hadn’t changed. Gold necklaces shimmered at his throat, his dark saturnine face watchful. He gave me the kiss of greeting amidst a gust of perfume, clasping my arms with his beringed fingers. I immediately suspected what was happening. Ay was surrounded by fan-bearers and flunkeys, set apart from the rest of the Royal Circle, emphasising his own power and dignity by holding the hands of the boy and the young woman who were to be Egypt’s king and queen. He was reminding everyone that these were his offspring. I looked over Ay’s shoulder. Djarka stood at the back of the crowd, fearful of meeting my eyes. I moved on to greet the rest: Huy, then Maya, who almost pushed me aside to grasp Sobeck’s hand. Of course, Horemheb was the hero of the day. Ay greeted him formally, bestowing upon him the gold collar of bravery and the silver bees of valour. The rest of the Royal Circle gathered around to offer their own personal congratulations whilst the ceremonial chariots were prepared. Once they were ready, we solemnly processed through the city to the Temple of Hathor of the Southern Sycamore, through the ankh-tay, the holy district, past the Temples of the King, the Pool of Pedjest-she, then round to visit the Temple of the Lady Neith of the White Walls and down to the central Temple of Ptah.

The entire city had turned out to throw flowers and greenery, lift bowls of smoking incense and intone the paean of praise. They gathered along the avenues before racing across the green fields of wheat and barley and through the palm groves to greet the victorious general yet again. We passed granaries full of barley and corn, open so each citizen could receive a free cup, whilst tables had been set up to offer cheap wine and beer to slake the throats of the excited citizens. Ay had done well. He wanted to show one of the greatest cities of Egypt that Ma’at had returned. Peace had been established. Harmony reigned.

Ay rode in the first chariot, pulled by jet-black Syrian mares. Horemheb processed slightly to his right. These were followed by chariots bearing other of Horemheb’s high-ranking officers, as well as members of the Royal Circle. After them came line after line of prisoners. The usurper and his woman had been virtually stripped naked, smeared with dung and placed on a farmer’s cart pulled by oxen. Around their necks were placards proclaiming their crimes. As they passed, the mob’s cheers turned to howls of protest: rocks, rotting fruit, anything the crowd could lay their hands on were thrown at them. Both prisoners sat in a huddle whilst behind them tramped line after line of captives, necks yoked, hands and feet manacled. We processed past the great blue enamelled doors of the Holy Places, their copper-plated gates being opened to the sound of gongs and cymbals.

At the Temple of Ptah, Horemheb, amidst a sea of scented petals and puffs of incense, smashed the skull of the woman who had pretended to be Nefertiti, and a number of enemy captains selected for that occasion. The rest of the prisoners, the usurper included, were forced to kneel and watch whilst heralds proclaimed that similar executions would be carried out at Thebes and other cities. The corpses were dragged away by their heels, to be hung from the walls by chains. Horemheb and Ay sacrificed to Ptah, Amun-Ra and the other great gods of Egypt before receiving the final acclamations of the crowd and retiring to the domain of Ankheperkere, the old rambling palace of Pharaoh Tuthmosis III, its towered walls ornamented with carved lions, some black with red manes, others red with black manes. I shivered as I recalled those man-eating beasts in the House of Darkness near the usurper’s camp.

When we had passed through the lofty gates, the formal celebrations came to an end. I immediately went to greet the young Prince, who seemed delighted at my return. Forgetting all dignity, he leapt into my arms and clasped my face in his little hands, squeezing my cheeks and kissing the end of my nose. He asked if I had brought him a present. Of course I hadn’t, but I said I had and winked quickly at Sobeck to find something appropriate. Ankhesenamun was all flirtatious, gently mocking me with sarcastic comments about the returning hero and did I want her to leap into my arms? Ay broke off from his discussions with Horemheb and gestured at me to approach. I ignored him, shouting for Djarka to take care of the young Prince and keep him out of the sun. Djarka, still looking rather dejected, forced his way through the throng, but Ay and Nakhtimin came between him and the Prince.

‘I do not think so, my lord.’ Ay opened his silver filigree fan, shaking it vigorously before his face.

‘My lord,’ I retorted, ‘I am the Prince’s protector and guardian. I have now returned to his sacred presence. His safety and security, as you know, are my concern.’

Ay sighed and stepped closer. ‘There have been changes whilst you have been gone, my lord Mahu; perhaps it’s best if we discuss them away from here.’

I was going to object, but there again, the courtyard was full of Nakhtimin’s men, foot soldiers in their leather armour and red and white striped head-dresses. They weren’t Neferu, raw recruits, but grizzled veterans whom Nakhtimin must have bribed to leave their fields and return to the ranks.

‘Things have certainly changed, God’s Father Ay.’ I smiled. ‘Djarka, follow the Prince wherever he is taken whilst God’s Father Ay has a word with me.’

That mongoose of a man, that cobra in human flesh, took me through a side door of the palace, along the corridors, the walls on either side decorated from top to bottom with lurid scenes extolling the exploits of Tuthmosis I.

‘Very warlike,’ Ay drawled over his shoulder. ‘A great boaster.’

‘The way of all flesh,’ I replied.

Ay walked deeper into the palace. Sometimes I must give the impression that Mahu, the Baboon of the South, is sly and cunning in all things. I am an old man now and I reflect. I have made foolish mistakes, and I did that morning. The ancient palace was full of Ay’s and Nakhtimin’s soldiers. They thronged the courtyards, guarded every entrance and lined the passageways. Ay was preparing to arrest me. By the time we reached the small writing chamber I must have passed at least three hundred well-armed soldiers. Once inside the chamber, Ay was all courteous and hospitable, gesturing that I sit on a camp stool whilst he offered sliced fruits from a silver bowl and filled the goblets of wine himself. He didn’t sit down, but stood over me, staring down rather sadly.

‘A great victory, Mahu,’ he murmured. ‘The usurper’s woman has been sacrificed! Her corpse and that of others, dangling over walls or above gates, will send a powerful message to those who wish to plot against the Royal Circle.’

‘Will Meryre join her?’ I toasted him with the wine.

‘Unfortunately, no.’ Ay ran a finger round the rim of the goblet. ‘About four days after I arrived here,’ he continued, ‘Meryre and his entourage escaped from Colonel Nebamun’s house, seized a barge and disappeared.’

‘Are you organising a manhunt?’

‘I tried to, but …’ Ay smiled apologetically. ‘We have other things to do than chase will-o’-the-wisps across the desert.’

‘And I suppose Lord Tutu and the other Atenists,’ I asked, ‘have also disappeared from the fortress of Buhen?’

‘Very clever, my lord Mahu. How on earth did you guess that? Yes, they fled, but they are no real danger. They are exposed as traitors, their armies defeated, their allies in Canaan nothing more than broken reeds.’

‘Or a blinded one.’

‘Oh yes.’ Ay’s face grew sadder. ‘My lord Aziru has been sent back to Canaan as a warning to other princes. Rebels against Egypt will be crushed. He can sit in his tawdry palace like a blind beggar at the gates. He can dream and plot, but he’ll never be a danger again.’

‘These changes?’ I asked. ‘Carried out during my absence, when I was working for the good of all?’

‘We all do that, my lord Mahu. But I have discussed this with the rest.’ He continued briskly, ‘The Royal Circle is too large. We need to be more businesslike, more united, with a clear chain of command.’

‘And so you are going to ask me to retire? You will take the Prince under your protection?’

Ay placed his wine cup down on the table, steepling his fingers together. ‘You look leaner, Mahu, more sharp-faced. Your foray north has made you more sensitive. Yes, you are correct. Perhaps it’s time, my lord Mahu, that you retired. An opulent mansion? Fertile estates?’ He leaned down. ‘Perhaps you will take a young wife, have a family? Forget the affairs of state?’ Ay lifted the wine cup.

‘And Huy and Maya agree with this?’

‘They see what has to be done in Egypt.’

‘And has the matter been raised with Lord Horemheb?’

‘In time, in time.’

‘Isn’t it rather dangerous?’ I asked. ‘I am being asked to retire, resign. Who will it be next year? Huy? Or why not Pentju? He’s only a physician.’

Ay gazed dreamily at me.

‘And if I don’t,’ I continued, ‘what will happen then, my lord Ay? Will I be placed under house arrest? Or perhaps there will be an accident? I’ll eat or drink something disagreeable to me.’

Ay shook his head, tutting under his breath.

‘The Royal Circle is not united!’ I snarled back, getting to my feet. ‘It’s dividing into two: Horemheb and the northern army; Lord Ay and the army of the south under his ghost-like brother General Nakhtimin, ably supported by the lords Huy and Maya. Two scales equally balanced, but if Mahu goes into the dark and you have custody of the young Prince Tutankhamun, then the balance tilts very heavily in your favour. Of course,’ I mimicked Ay’s gestures, ‘I will not be retiring, resigning, abdicating, farming or anything else. I will leave this chamber and I shall take the Prince into my care.’

Ay made to protest, moving towards the door.

‘I wouldn’t call the captain of your guard, my lord. I was prepared to sacrifice my life for the safety of our Prince and the well-being of the Two Lands. I entered the enemy camp. Both Sobeck and I gathered information which was of great use to Lord Horemheb.’

‘And we are grateful for that,’ Ay purred. ‘Truly we are.’

‘I also discovered the usurper’s archives. Or should I say those of Prince Aziru?’

That faint smile disappeared from Ay’s face. He now leaned against the door, arms behind him, head tilted back. In some ways he reminded me of Nefertiti, his daughter: watchful, careful.

‘In the course of a battle,’ I continued, ‘such records could easily be destroyed, but I found them. They are still in my possession. Ah, my lord Ay, General Horemheb hasn’t told you that, has he? But that’s because he doesn’t really know what this leather sack contains. I discovered a letter from you to the usurper. It carries your seal. How does it go? You say that you are writing on behalf of the Royal Circle, that you are sending envoys to meet with him, that I will be leaving Thebes by barge and that the messenger who took this letter will provide other necessary details. You close with the sentence, yes, that’s how it goes: “The message is important but the messenger isn’t.” Whom did you send, my lord Ay? Some hapless scribe, some luckless merchant? Or was it one of your mercenaries, armed with a pass and carrying a secret letter which was also his death warrant?’

‘I wrote on behalf of the Royal Circle!’ he snapped.

‘By whose authority?’ I retorted. ‘We’ll gather the rest and ask when you were given such powers!’

‘But the letter was innocuous. It simply declared what was going to happen.’

‘I don’t think so, my lord Ay. Your messenger also took details about our journey up the Nile, how we were taking the Prince Tutankhamun to the City of the Aten. Perhaps because of your letter, that attack was launched.’

‘I didn’t tell them that. I didn’t want that. I wouldn’t hand my grandson over to a usurper.’

‘No, I don’t think you would, but you were, how can I put it, showing the usurper and his chief adviser Prince Aziru where your sympathies lay. Your envoy also carried verbal messages which would sound meaningless to him but very meaningful to Prince Aziru and those advising the usurper. Perhaps an indication that, at a given time, after certain events, you might shift your allegiance. That’s why the messenger was executed: what he carried was more important than his person.’

Ay lowered his head, staring at me intently.

‘That is fanciful nonsense,’ he murmured. ‘No one will believe you.’

‘They will certainly listen,’ I replied. ‘I’ll raise the question of why Prince Aziru was blinded and dispatched back to Canaan immediately. You didn’t want him here, did you? You couldn’t have him blabbing before the Royal Circle or trying to barter for his life and security in return for information. Finally, we come to Meryre. Did you organise his escape? And the same for Lord Tutu at Buhen? You wanted them out of the way. You wanted the whole incident conveniently forgotten.’ I sat back on the stool and picked up my wine cup. ‘I also have a prisoner, the priest Khufu. He may yet prove to be a source of interesting information. This is the way my accusations will go. My lord Ay presided over the Royal Circle. One faction, Meryre and the Atenists, posed a serious threat. You know, I know, and Meryre knows how the Shabtis of Akenhaten were merely a façade so that Meryre could act the victim, screaming about how his followers were being assassinated by some secret society loyal to the old order. You didn’t know which way to jump. You fear Horemheb and you don’t really trust Huy and Maya, so you cultivated Meryre, you allowed him to paw your granddaughter and nourish his secret ambitions. You quietly supported them but were not party to them. The usurper appeared in the Delta. Meryre wanted to join him, so he used the excuse of being an envoy from the Royal Circle to travel north. He had already been communicating with the enemy, you know how, sending hidden messages in statues and carvings of the Aten Disc. He demanded my presence, hoping I would take the Prince with me; you supported this, unaware of this daring raid planned to kidnap him. At the same time, you did not oppose Meryre’s demands that the fortress of Buhen be handed over to Lord Tutu’s supporters. You also communicated secretly with Prince Aziru; an ambiguous message, but Aziru would probably be sharp enough to read between the lines. You sat back and waited. If the usurper was defeated you’d soon get rid of Meryre and his faction so as to deal with the new problem, General Horemheb and his victorious regiments. You and Nakhtimin have already begun that, haven’t you? Raising troops and quartering them outside Thebes. Of course, the only fly in the ointment was the possibility that someone might talk, but there again, you can take care of that. Did I say one fly?’ I smiled. ‘I meant two. I am the second. You want custody of the Prince, so it’s time Mahu retired. You daren’t have me murdered; that might raise suspicions, and as you know, I am a hard man to kill. Nor do you want to invoke a blood feud with Sobeck and Djarka or incite the curiosity of General Horemheb.’ I sipped at my wine.

Ay walked over to me and placed a hand gently on my shoulder. When I glanced up, he was grinning down at me.

‘Do you have anything else to say, Mahu?’

‘Yes, my lord. You are not thinking clearly. Horemheb and Rameses will only trust you as long as I have custody of the Prince. I am the balance between your two factions. They will have noticed what happened in the courtyard.’ I pointed to the gold collar of office around Ay’s neck. ‘I would wager every piece of jewellery you are wearing that General Horemheb is already discussing matters with General Rameses. How prominent you were in the victory parade. How you insisted on keeping the Prince close to you. How you seemed intent on usurping the agreement of the Royal Circle that I am the Prince’s protector.’

Ay sat down on a chair, resting his elbow on its arms, fingers before his face.

‘What will you do?’ I whispered. ‘Arrest me? Kill me? Force me to retire? Do you think Horemheb is going to accept that?’

‘Will you be with me, Mahu?’

‘If it’s for the good of the Prince, I’ll sleep with the hyaenas in the desert.’

Ay threw back his head and laughed.

‘Do you know, Mahu, I have always enjoyed our little chats. I am so glad I talked to you first. I do appreciate what you have done, and …’ he laughed softly, ‘and what you know.’

‘That’s our little secret,’ I replied. ‘A bond between us. Now,’ I got to my feet, ‘what I propose, my lord Ay,’ I crooked my arm, ‘is that we leave here arm-in-arm, the best of friends, the closest of allies.’

Ay stretched out his hand.

‘Welcome back, Baboon of the South. I agree with what you say. Let’s walk arm-in-arm, smiling to the world. Let’s celebrate our friendship and be ready to meet the Royal Circle.’

Ay was a rogue, a charlatan, a viper beneath the rock, a cobra basking in the sun. He had a heart as black as night and a wit as sharp as any dagger. He also had a charming insolence, a ready laugh; he was a man who would slip one mask off and another mask on. He was like a gambler, but not the sort who’d throw the knucklebones and weep because he had lost. Win or lose, Ay always smiled as he walked away from the gambling pit, and that time was no different. We strolled out into the passageway. He made me stop to examine a glowing wall painting in brilliant blue, gold and dark blood-red depicting Pharaoh’s victories against a host of vile Asiatics. The horses pranced, their plumes stiff in the breeze, as the chariots charged over hundreds of fallen enemy. So dramatic that the more you looked, the more certain you became that the standards held aloft were now swaying and that you could hear the thrilling blast of the trumpets.

‘We are friends, Mahu,’ Ay whispered. ‘Look at this painting and the hieroglyphs beneath. Spell them out for me.’

‘User Maa Traa. Sete Eera — the justice of Ra is powerful,’ I translated. ‘He is chosen by Ra.’

‘And this?’

He went through the rest of the hieroglyphs: Kemet for the Black Lands; Deshet for the Red Lands; Tashemau for Upper Egypt; Tahu for Lower Egypt. He was like a teacher taking me around the painting, oblivious to the guards who thronged the corridor. He pointed to the isu, the joint of meat offered in sacrifice after ritual; to the creatures and plants of Egypt, such as Mut the vulture, Ashear the lizard, Awadj the papyrus plant, Nkhd the rush plant.

‘What is all this, Mahu?’ He gestured with his hand. ‘The victorious Pharaoh, the plants of Egypt, the Black Land of the Nile and the scorching sands of the desert? It’s all the kingdom of Egypt, that land beloved by the gods, blessed by the sun, washed by the Nile.’ He beat his hand passionately against the wall. ‘To this is my allegiance; this is my soul, my Ka, my dream. I would sacrifice myself, you, my daughter, the Prince and all of the Royal Circle for the sake of Egypt.’

All cynicism had drained from Ay’s face. His eyes were hard, his lips a thin line. Yet even then, I didn’t trust him.

‘You look doubtful, Mahu?’

‘There is one flaw to your argument, my lord.’

‘Which is?’

‘Who will decide what is best for Egypt?’

I was sure he was going to reply, ‘I am Egypt’, just from the way he opened his mouth and leaned closer; then he thought different. He relaxed, smiled, patted me on the shoulder and led me out.

The courtyard was now empty. Horemheb and Rameses had left with their entourage. Grooms and stable boys were putting away the chariots. A few officers, courtiers and priests lounged by the fountain, dipping their hands into the cool water, splashing their arms and faces. The glory of the occasion was passing, like incense growing faint in the air. I made my farewells to Ay.

‘Mahu!’ He shouted me back. ‘You are not staying at the palace?’

‘No, my lord. I feel safer with Colonel Nebamun. I would ask for the Prince to be sent back there. Where the Lady Ankhesenamun goes is a matter for you to decide.’

Ay agreed, and walked away. Nakhtimin stepped out of the shadows and, surrounded by his staff officers, escorted Ay from the temple courtyard. I found Sobeck and Djarka in one of the small gardens overlooking a canal dug in from the Nile. They were throwing pebbles at the lotus blossom floating on its surface.

‘An interesting meeting?’ Sobeck asked.

‘Meeting my lord Ay is always interesting.’ I smiled. ‘Djarka, how on earth did he get his hands on the Prince?’

‘I had no choice.’ My manservant’s dark face looked rather pinched, his cheeks unshaven. His black hair, usually combed straight and carefully oiled, was unwashed, his eyes red-rimmed from dust or lack of sleep. ‘Ay swept into Memphis like a storm wind, soldiers everywhere. All I had was a mercenary corps. Horemheb and Rameses were absent; he soon became cock of the dunghill.’

A hoopoe bird swooped low over the canal in a flash of colour. In a thicket beside us a hare suddenly coursed out, making me start.

‘That’s Horemheb’s idea,’ Sobeck murmured. ‘He likes hares; the bloody palace now teems with them. Apparently his dwarfs have to chase them. I have been listening to the gossip: Horemheb keeps his wife under lock and key.’

I recalled Mutnojnet, Nefertiti’s unlikely sister, a quiet, comely-faced woman who seemed to worship the ground Horemheb stood on.

‘And?’

‘Well, not so much under lock and key,’ Sobeck retorted. ‘That’s unfair to the good general, but they are preparing for themselves the most exquisite tombs out in Sakkara. You must go and see them.’

‘Why are they interesting?’

‘Horemheb regards himself as if he was Pharaoh or his heir.’ Sobeck’s eyes were watchful. ‘According to the paintings ordered for his tomb and the inscriptions carved on the walls, you’d think he had spent most of his life saving Egypt from a myriad of enemies. What I am saying, Mahu, is that it gives you some insight into the man.’

‘The rest are no different,’ Djarka intervened. ‘Look at the tombs abandoned in the City of the Aten. What was it Maya wrote on his? “When I began I was very good, when I finished I was brilliant.” He’s still a young man. They will be trouble, won’t they?’

‘They’ll be trouble,’ I agreed, ‘but not yet. Everyone is watching everyone else, strengthening their position. Now Meryre and his gang have gone, the lines will be clearer. There will be no more talk about the Aten or returning to its city, or,’ I added drily, ‘the Shabtis of Akenhaten. How did Meryre escape?’

‘One day he was here,’ Djarka replied, ‘the next day he was gone. He was confined in Lord Nebamun’s house, close to the river. The guards were few. About three days after Lord Ay’s arrival here, Meryre and his retinue disappeared.’

‘Any news from Buhen?’

‘The same,’ Djarka replied. ‘It was becoming a gathering place for every refugee from the City of the Aten. Tutu was lording it over the garrison commander. The news of the great victory at Sile seeped out; Tutu and his entourage left, and haven’t been seen since.’

‘Where will they go?’ Sobeck asked.

‘Where can they go?’ I replied. ‘They are traitors, and priests or not, the Royal Circle will post rewards on their heads, dead or alive. The Red Lands will be scoured. They’ll be safest in Canaan or the Hittite territories, but we’ll see.’

Sobeck threw his last pebble into the canal and stretched out his hand. ‘I have done what I can; now I must go. I have business in Thebes, Mahu.’ He gave his crooked smile. ‘I am sure there will be those who think, out of sight out of mind.’

‘Sobeck, I haven’t thanked you …’

He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mahu, you will. I’ll make my farewells of Maya and leave.’

I felt sad as I watched him go, my comrade-in-arms. We had gone through the dangers in the Delta and Sobeck had played his part; now he wanted to return to the slums of Eastern Thebes and what he called his own private kingdom! Djarka and I returned to Colonel Nebamun’s house. The old soldier was delighted that we were his guests. I asked him to organise the mercenaries, receive the Prince and keep a close watch until I returned.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I want to look for my old friend Pentju.’

After some searching, I discovered the physician had decided to go to the Red Chapel at the Temple of Ptah to make an offering. I was intrigued. Pentju was like myself: he didn’t disbelieve in the Gods, he just didn’t bother them and hoped that they wouldn’t bother him. I collected a dagger from the House of War, together with a stout cudgel, and made my way up to the temple. For a while I became lost in the wretched slums, cobbled lanes nothing better than dark tunnels, which squeezed themselves past buildings. The squalor and dirt were a sharp contrast to the luxury and opulence of the palace. Flocks of crows and kites and packs of yellow pi-dogs scrabbled raucously, fighting with beak and claw over the heaps of filth where flies swarmed in dark clouds. I passed rickety doors, half opened to reveal stinking passageways, a place as dangerous as any war camp. I was glad to reach the basalt avenue leading down to the Temple of Ptah. I went through the monumental gates set between orange walls over which majestic lions of blue, yellow and red enamel mounted guard. A dense crowd clustered here: peasants in their short tunics, and elegant noblemen with their wives in perfumed robes. In the central courtyard a group of priests gathered before the soaring statue of Ptah, chanting their hymns and offering incense:

Once into the temple proper, moving through the smoky torchlight, I found a temple guard and introduced myself. He agreed to take me to the Scribe of Offerings, the priest who made a faithful record of all who visited the temple to pay their devotions. He led me across the precincts and through the courtyard where the executions and sacrifices had been made earlier in the day. The place still seethed with excitement; clouds of dust blowing like gold still hung heavy after the victory celebrations. We passed workshops, schools and granaries, and the house of the God’s handmaids. I was truly intrigued at why Pentju should come here. He had no devotion to Ptah and there were temples enough in Thebes to make offerings. At last we reached the Red Chapel, set amidst fertile lawns and fringed by palm groves. The Scribe of Offerings, bathing in the Pool of Purity, acknowledged Pentju had been there.

‘I remember him only too well.’ He climbed out of the pool, a servant hurrying forward to fold a robe about him. ‘Lord Pentju was most generous: a hundred ounos of silver for one of our mortuary priests.’

‘A priest of the dead?’ I queried. ‘For whom were the sacrifices to be made?’

‘For his wife and family slain in the City of the Aten.’

‘Slain?’

‘No, no.’ The old priest’s face crinkled up. ‘That was my mistake. No, died.’ He wiped beads of water from his face. ‘Ah, was it? Come with me.’

We entered the Red Chapel, an elegant building of quartzite stone, which glowed as if containing hidden fire, and into a tiled antechamber tastefully decorated with couches. An acacia-wood table stood in the centre, holding a gold-topped coffer. The priest opened this and took out the Book of Life for temple offerings. Pentju’s entry was the last. I noticed that the word khai-I, or slain, had been hurriedly crossed out and replaced with ‘died’. The entry also stipulated that the priest issue an execration text against a Child of Evil: ‘The Ur-sht, the Chief Slaughterer from the Aatiu, the slaughter house.’

‘Why should he do that?’ I asked.

The priest, who was only interested in profits, just sniffed.

‘Lord Pentju arrived here,’ he squeaked, ‘just before I bathed. I do so nine times every day. Well,’ he hurried on, glimpsing my impatience, ‘I brought him in here; he made the offering, but he seemed nervous, agitated. He explained how his wife and family had died of the pestilence in the Great Heretic’s city.’ The priest abruptly became fearful; fingers went to his lips. ‘My lord Mahu, I didn’t mean …’

‘I don’t care what you mean,’ I replied. ‘What did Lord Pentju say?’

‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this.’

I let my hand fall to the dagger beneath my robe and grasped my cudgel more tightly.

‘But you are a friend, my lord Mahu. There’s no real mystery. Lord Pentju asked for a priest to sing hymns and say prayers and curse the evil spirit who brought sickness to his family.’

‘And where did he go afterwards?’

‘He said he wanted to go to the House of Life. Our school of medicine is famous.’

I took directions from the priest and found Pentju in the Chamber of Salts and Potions at the temple House of Life. He was sitting behind the other scholars, listening to the physician describe how ripe almonds mixed with wormwood and sweet beer evacuate the belly. Most of his audience were dozing. Pentju didn’t notice me. I stood and watched for a while. As a young man, Meryre’s friend and companion, Pentju had been arrogant, full of smug righteousness. The years had changed him: a long, lined face, furrows of anxiety around his eyes and mouth, ears slightly protuberant, his sharp eyes lost in some constant reverie, shoulders faintly hunched. He moved constantly as if in discomfort, clutching his belly or scratching his face. A nervous, agitated man, whose heart seemed to be grieving over something. I had seen the type before, or at least the mood. Men and women who live in a dream world as if constantly distracted by something they can’t share with anyone else. I had always considered Pentju eager to amass a fortune as well as win the reputation as a great physician. The City of the Aten had changed all that. He had lost his wife, family and kin. He had not been with them during the pestilence but had been protected in his own private mansion, having direct custody of Tutankhamun during his infant years. Why should Djoser babble about him before he died? Or Meryre make reference to him in his letters? During my journey down to Memphis I had studied every document, every sheet of papyrus and clay tablet seized in the usurper’s camp. Meryre often cited Pentju with the hope that the physician would join their cause, but despite all entreaties he had proved indifferent. While others, including Maya and Huy, had expressed an interest in rejecting the Aten cult but developing the City of the Aten as a place of importance along the Nile, Pentju’s reaction had been one of bored indifference.

The old lector priest giving the talk on diet and the effects of certain herbs on the belly and bowels finally drew his talk to an end. Pentju got to his feet and walked straight across to me.

‘Mahu, are you following me? I saw you arrive.’ His tired face eased into a smile. ‘But I thought the talk would do you more good than me.’

‘Why did you come to the Temple of Ptah?’ I asked.

‘Because their House of Life is famous. On reflection, its importance is much exaggerated.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I passed the execution wall. They clothed the red-haired woman in sheepskin cloth and hung her by her heels in chains. She did have,’ he added wistfully, ‘beautiful hair. It hangs down like a veil about her face. I stood there. I half closed my eyes, Mahu, and thought it was Nefertiti.’

‘You hated her that much?’

‘No.’

‘She hated you then?’

Pentju led me out of the chamber and into a high-walled courtyard with a small tile-edged, ornamental pool. A rather lonely place. I can recall the sunlight, the first coolness of the evening. Baskets of lupins stood around the pool. We sat down on a marble bench.

‘I always wondered, Mahu, when you’d come. You are a baboon, you know. You sit on your rock and watch.’

‘Nefertiti?’ I persisted.

‘Akenhaten’s wife.’ Pentju smiled. ‘His great Queen, Nefertiti!’

‘She hated you?’ I asked.

‘She hated me because of the Lady Khiya. You know how it happened, Mahu.’

‘Tell me again,’ I insisted.

‘Akenhaten built his city.’ Pentju sighed. ‘He was lost in his worship of Aten, the One. He suffered from delusions, believed he was the only one who could communicate directly with the All-Mighty, All-Seeing God, and then he moved a step higher. He believed that he was God’s son incarnate, and it’s only a small journey from there to believing that he was god himself. Nefertiti did not help. She offered her husband wine and drugs, the juice of the poppy, which disturbed his humours and forced him to live in a dream world. Some call him the Great Heretic, others a madman. He was just an idealist who became lost in drugged dreams. He was not the Chosen. He began to resent Nefertiti, the way she insisted on being his equal, and, of course, she never produced a son.’ Pentju leaned down and tapped one of the lupins with a finger. ‘Lady Khiya, Tutankhamun’s mother, was different.’ He kept his face hidden from me, but I caught the sob in his voice. ‘She was soft as a little mouse and would chatter to me. I discovered the red-haired bitch was feeding her potions and powders so she’d never conceive. I wanted to help the Lady Khiya.’

‘And have your revenge on Nefertiti, who had humiliated you?’

‘Yes, yes. She had.’ Pentju straightened up. ‘But it was Khiya I wanted to help. Akenhaten used to visit her; often about now, as the breeze cools, they’d go walking in the garden.’ He smiled. ‘Khiya became pregnant. At first Akenhaten was fearful of Nefertiti’s rage. For a short while, Mahu,’ Pentju stared at me, his eyes welling up, ‘Akenhaten was young again. You know the way he was. Like a young boy who’s stumbled on a clever idea. He was truly frightened that Nefertiti would damage either the Lady Khiya or the baby. He entrusted both of them to me and left secret instructions that if I should die,’ Pentju nudged me playfully, ‘you were to take responsibility.’ He shrugged. ‘Khiya died in childbirth. I looked after the boy walled up in that mansion, protected by mercenaries, then the plague struck, ravaging the City of the Aten as it did the rest of Egypt.’

‘Your wife and children died?’ I asked.

Pentju drew himself up, tightening his lips as if hiding some secret pain. ‘My wife, my boys, my girl, my brother and two other kinsmen all died in the last few days of the plague. By then Nefertiti had wormed her way back into Akenhaten’s affections, proclaiming herself joint ruler.’ Pentju scratched a spot on his hand. ‘Akenhaten came to visit me. He seemed fearful, suspicious. He told me that if anything happened to him he had left documents proclaiming you as the official custodian of his heir. The rest you know.’

‘The rest I don’t know, Pentju,’ I retorted. ‘A short while ago a battle was fought in the Delta which could have cost us all our lives. A usurper proclaimed himself Pharaoh because no one knows what did happen to Akenhaten.’

‘But neither do I. Oh, I have heard the stories that he may have been poisoned by Nefertiti, or even by his daughter, Meritaten; that his corpse lies hidden somewhere in the City of the Aten. I asked Meryre once when he invited me to dinner. Oh, he never talked treason but he hinted at it. One thing I did learn: Djoser and Khufu, the two priests? They did not leave with Akenhaten but afterwards; they may have taken his treasure. Did you find any trace of that?’

‘No, we didn’t.’ I edged closer. ‘But I found something more interesting. The False Pharaoh’s archives. They were very interesting, Pentju. Djoser, as he died, babbled about you knowing something.’

‘The mutterings of a traitor.’ Pentju became agitated. ‘But I did nothing wrong. I kept well away from Meryre’s scheming.’

‘I know you did,’ I soothed.

‘Well, they are all dead.’

‘Except Khufu,’ I murmured.

Pentju turned, face stricken, mouth slack. ‘Khufu!’ he whispered, then put his head in his hands and began to sob quietly.