The Season of the Hyaena

Chapter 12

Our hunting party left Memphis early the next morning, ostensibly to enjoy a day’s relaxation, but as Maya wryly observed, our true quarry would be more elusive. We were accompanied by a host of chariots, a swarm of retainers, huntsmen and a pack of yelping hounds trained to the horn, whip and whistle. The guest of honour was Horemheb, still very much the Themum, the Hero of the Hour. Rameses and Huy were still drunk from the previous night. Maya was distraught at Sobeck’s departure. Pentju seemed the most alert of us all, although sombre-faced and withdrawn. Lord Ay was in his usual fine form.

‘It’s good,’ he announced from his glorious chariot as we assembled outside Nebamun’s mansion, ‘to be free of the heretics and traitors.’

No one dared mention how he had been foremost in that heresy, as his unfinished tomb at the City of the Aten bore witness, its walls inscribed with fulsome praise of both Akenhaten and his God. Ah well, there again, politicians have all the memory of a butterfly — when it suits them. Watching him grasp the reins, talking and joking with his companions, I wondered how much the Lord Cobra really knew about those sombre last days of Akenhaten. However, for Ay, that door was closed, bolted and sealed. He’d never tell the truth even if the Goddess Ma’at came over the Far Horizon and ordered him to do so.

We had chosen a fine morning, a glorious dawn promising a warm day. We moved through the grass and trees heading into the west, the sun behind us, its light catching and illuminating the wild flowers. Our dogs, yapping and snarling, were eager for the hunt. Now and again a hare would start from the grass or a flock of webbed quail burst up in a flash of colour, wings beating the air, their cries of alarm carrying out to the flocks of gazelles and wild goats, who would gallop away in clouds of hazy dust. Wild grey asses kicked up their hoofs, whinnied and threatened our dogs before cantering away. We scattered a line of game before us, our chariots fanning out in the morning light, huntsmen calling in the dogs.

We reached the end of the grasslands and came upon our real prey, a formidable herd of wild bulls, hefty and muscular, with pointed horns and mad, fiery eyes, a clever disguise for their speed and cunning. They always reminded me of Horemheb, the same bulk, ferocity, bravery, cunning, and above all, surprising speed. Our great hero, the noble general, was intent on a kill, eager to make his offering to his patron God, Horus of Henes. The dogs were released and streamed like a flight of arrows towards the herd. The huntsmen followed after. Immediately the bulls broke up, but one of their leaders, an old scarred beast, angry and agitated, turned, swinging its head, lowering its horn, snorting in fury and pawing the ground. The danger with wild bulls is you never know until the last moment whether they are going to flee or charge. This one charged, a sudden burst of speed, heading straight for our pack of dogs. I loosed shaft after shaft. The other chariots ringed the bull as, confused, it turned to face the new danger. Arrows whistled through the air. The bull went down, losing the power of its hindquarters as barb after barb scored its flanks and withers, cutting muscle and sinew. At last it lay quiet, flanks quivering, eyes glowing, blood pumping out of its nostrils and mouth. Horemheb climbed down from his chariot and stood astride its thick muscular neck. He raised his hands towards the sky, the knife in his right hand dazzling in the sun as the great general recited a hymn to Horus. We all joined in the chorus, then Horemheb sliced the animal’s throat and cut off a tuft of hair between the horns. He took us over to the fire a huntsman had quickly built and sprinkled the hairs, followed by a handful of incense. The scented smoke rose against the blue sky. Horemheb stood, eyes tightly closed, quietly communicating with his God.

‘Who,’ Maya hissed spitefully, ‘Horemheb truly believed guided his every action at the great victory in the Delta.’

Once the sacrifice was finished, the huntsmen closed in. They slit the belly, drained the blood and quartered and pickled the various joints. The air turned sour with the smell of tumbling intestines and gushing blood. The hunting party moved on, reaching the edge of the grassland, where the soil became sparse and the only water lay in stagnant pools ringed by coarse, dirty weeds. We moved cautiously through the thickets of brambles and robe-rending gorse. We were on the edge of the desert, where the night prowlers lurked. We surprised an old lion, a tawny beast with a jet-black mane. Disturbed and alarmed, it turned on our dogs, savaging two, till it was dispatched with arrows and a lance in the mouth by Horemheb. The sun rose higher in the heavens, the heat draining the strength of man, dog and horse.

We reached the Oasis of Sweet Grass and pitched our camp, unhitching the chariots and establishing horse lines. Cooking fires were built; food and wine baskets unloaded and brought out. The stinking quarry we’d killed was taken downwind and piled in carts, sprinkled with salt and covered with a leather awning. At last everything was ready. Horemheb, very much the soldier, insisted that we were not out of danger yet, and that even on a hunting trip we should act as if we were on the march. Huy and Maya raised their eyes heavenwards. On reflection, we were the fiercest beasts in the desert: the hunters, the hyaenas of the Royal Court. The real business of the day was about to begin. We washed and cleaned in the oasis pool, gratefully accepting the chilled wine offered by servants. Once they had withdrawn, we sat on our cushions and Lord Ay, tapping his long nails against his goblet, brought us to order with a stark question.

‘Is he still alive?’

All eyes turned to me.

‘You do have the prisoner Khufu?’ Ay cheekily remarked. ‘As well as the records of the Usurper? Indeed, my lord Mahu, we are surprised that you have not handed both over to the Royal Circle!’

‘We should not be surprised,’ I retorted. ‘You know, my Lord Ay, I was considering retiring from the Royal Circle. If that had been the case I would have paraded the truth before you and provided you with a copy of everything I had found.’

Ay smiled dreamily back at me. Huy and Maya lowered their heads. Rameses hid his smile behind his cup.

‘If you had resigned, Lord Mahu,’ Ay murmured, ‘we would all have been distraught. Your support and your strength, particularly in this crisis, are deeply appreciated. I know you will speak with true voice!’

‘How would you know what a true voice is?’ I jibed.

‘The truth,’ Ay demanded. ‘My lord Mahu, you are Chief of Police, Overseer of the House of Secrets.’

‘And you have brought your torturer with you,’ I declared. ‘The usurper and the other captives have been put to the question.’

‘Nothing but babbling,’ Rameses declared. ‘Nothing much at all. Vague rumours, fanciful stories.’

‘I believe he is alive.’ I cut across Rameses’ voice. ‘I think he fled from the City of the Aten.’ I narrowed my eyes, peering at the heat haze across the desert. ‘He was given help and sheltered in southern Canaan. I think we know as much as Meryre did: the rest he concocted to help the Hittites and Prince Aziru.’

‘Then Colonel Nebamun is wrong?’ Horemheb asked.

‘No, I believe he spoke the truth. I trust the Colonel implicitly. One of the few men I do.’

Horemheb allowed himself a smile.

‘Akenhaten may be living in south Canaan, but you have seen the roads, the boats and barges on the river. Sooner or later all the world comes to Egypt. Akenhaten may have returned one last time, perhaps for a glimpse of his son, as well as to see justice done. What we have here is, perhaps, something none of us are acquainted with. On this matter we must not put our trust in Pharaoh,’ I quoted the proverb, ‘or place our confidence in the war chariots of Egypt.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rameses demanded.

‘We deal in power,’ I replied. ‘We are the lords, the masters; my lord Horemheb raises his hands and chariot squadrons, whole hosts of men, march to his command. I send out a writ to my subordinates, the mayors of Eastern and Western Thebes,’ I added, ‘and unless my lord Ay interferes, my orders will be carried out. But this is not about power. Akenhaten drank deep of power and it made him sick. In the City of the Aten he vomited, he purged himself. Now he wants to be at peace. It is about ideals, about conversion.’

‘So what do we do?’ Rameses asked.

‘For the glory of Egypt,’ Horemheb retorted, ‘kill him.’

‘I agree.’ Ay spoke up. ‘For the sake of Egypt, for the protection of his son, in order that we can establish true Ma’at, harmony throughout the kingdom of the Two Lands, we must kill him.’

‘What happens if there is no need?’ I declared. ‘What happens if Akenhaten does not pose a problem to us or to Egypt? Why not let the problem wither on the branch? The present troubles are not caused by him, but by the usurper.’

‘He could be used by others,’ Horemheb declared.

‘I don’t think he’d allow that.’

‘Why did he take his treasure?’ Maya asked. ‘If he had found true peace and harmony, what does he need his treasure for?’

‘He doesn’t,’ I smiled, ‘not for himself, but it can buy silence, the co-operation and connivance of others.’

‘And this correspondence?’ Huy asked. ‘The documents found in the usurper’s tent?’

I smiled at Ay. ‘Nothing more than sand in the wind, Lord Huy.’

‘And Khufu?’

‘A mere babbler.’

Horemheb straightened up. Ay gestured for silence as servants carried platters of woven reed heaped high with meat and vegetables, laying out napkins and refilling goblets.

‘Don’t worry.’ Ay toasted me with his cup. ‘I have had General Nakhtimin,’ he gestured to where his sinister brother stood with the other officers, watching intently what was happening, ‘make sure that our food is, how can I put it, free of any potions or powders.’

‘And I put my trust in Colonel Nebamun,’ Rameses simpered. ‘I asked him to keep an eye on everything. Well,’ he smiled, ‘we shall eat and drink safely.’

I gazed around. The hyaena pack was still unified, but the tensions were there: Horemheb and Rameses confronting Ay, with Huy, Maya, Pentju and myself in between.

‘Has Meryre been found?’ Rameses asked, his mouth full of food. ‘Surely a fat priest and his followers, not to mention Lord Tutu and the group from Buhen, would be clear targets in the desert? I mean, from what I gather, they not only fled but took their wives, servants and children with them.’

‘One thing at a time,’ Ay countered. ‘A search will be made. If they have become lost in the desert, then that’s one problem solved in the best possible way. On our return to Thebes we will redouble our efforts, carry out a proper investigation, release the hunters.’

‘He should be captured.’ Horemheb slurped from his cup. ‘Meryre and the rest should be put to the question.’

‘My lord Pentju,’ Ay toasted the physician with his cup, ‘you remain silent. You have become nothing but a watcher of our activities. Is it true,’ Ay glanced quickly at me, ‘that Lord Meryre approached you? Those we tortured say the High Priest was most eager for you to join his company.’

‘Meryre can ask the stars to fall,’ Pentju quipped, ‘but that doesn’t mean they will. As for my silence, Lord Ay, that is my own business. I was appointed by Pharaoh Akenhaten to this Royal Circle. I was chosen to guard his infant son. He is still my concern.’

‘He’s our concern,’ Ay soothed. ‘I propose that if Generals Horemheb and Rameses stay in Memphis to keep an eye on affairs in the north, the Prince and my granddaughter should return to the Malkata Palace in Thebes.’

‘No.’ Horemheb put his platter down.

All the bonhomie of our meal and the hunt disappeared.

‘My lord General,’ Ay whispered. ‘Is there a problem with what I proposed?’

‘Yes.’ Rameses answered for him. ‘Why can’t the Prince stay in Memphis with his official protector, Lord Mahu, and, perhaps, Lord Pentju?’

‘He is my grandson.’ Ay’s face assumed that stubborn, pugnacious look. ‘He is heir to the throne. He is to be crowned. Thebes is Pharaoh’s city.’

‘Memphis it should be,’ Horemheb retorted.

I gazed across at Huy; he stared blankly back. Maya was the same. This was the point of power. Whoever controlled the Prince would eventually control Egypt. I recalled Khufu’s story; the City of the Aten with its honeycomb of tombs.

‘My lords,’ I intervened, ‘may I propose a solution? A compromise? The city of Memphis is in the north; Thebes is in the south. In between lies the City of the Aten, in many ways still a thriving community. What I propose is that I, the Lord Pentju and his Highness the Prince, together with the Princess Ankhesenamun, return to the City of the Aten. No. No!’ I raised my hand to still the objections. ‘The city is well guarded by my mercenaries. They have taken an oath of personal loyalty to myself as well as to the Prince. It can also be easily guarded: it is built on a cove surrounded virtually on three sides by cliffs and on the fourth by the Nile. Perhaps it will be best if the land routes, the clifftops, were patrolled by Colonel Nebamun’s chariot squadrons, the river by soldiers and marines sent north under General Nakhtimin, whilst the city itself can be policed by my mercenaries. It will be good for the Prince to be away from Thebes whilst matters are harmonised and the restoration of the old ways continues apace. Once this has been done, the Prince can be returned to Thebes, where he will be crowned in the Temple of the Amun-Ra, and, of course, like his predecessors, process annually between Thebes and Memphis displaying his crown and power.’

Rameses made to object, but Horemheb tapped him on the shoulder. Ay clicked his tongue, a favourite gesture whenever he was thinking deeply.

‘Of course,’ I added, ‘the City of the Aten will be an ideal place for the Royal Circle to meet every so often to discuss matters. All members of the Royal Circle will have equal access to the Prince. No major decision will be made without us all agreeing.’

‘I would accept that,’ Horemheb snapped.

Huy and Maya immediately voiced their support.

‘There is another problem.’ I waited for a servant to bring a fresh wine jug. ‘Outside the City of the Aten lie the Royal Tombs. Some of the dead were casualties of the plague. They include members of the Royal Family, Lord Ay, your own daughter, Queen Nefertiti, your sister, Great Queen Tiye, the Princess Ankhesenamun’s sister and others of the Royal Court.’ I was pleased to see everyone nodding. ‘It is obvious,’ I continued, ‘that the City of the Aten will one day die, return to the desert. However, we have a duty to the Gods, as well as the dead, to ensure that these graves are not violated, their treasures plundered.’

‘What do you propose?’ Ay demanded.

‘That every coffin and sarcophagus be removed by river to new tombs in the Valley of the Nobles or the Valley of the Kings, and that this be done sooner rather than later.’

‘That will be major work,’ Maya remarked, ‘requiring much silver. Caves have to be excavated. It should be done secretly,’ he added. ‘If the grave robbers around the City of the Dead learn of what can only be termed a rash of royal burials taking place in the Valley of the Kings, their curiosity, not to mention their greed, would be roused. These tombs,’ he declared solemnly, ‘should be excavated and prepared in secret, the coffins brought by night and sealed away.’

‘And how should we do that?’ Rameses asked.

‘Use General Horemheb’s great victory.’ Ay joined his hands together. ‘We have a horde of prisoners of war. They can dig and they can excavate. They can be given as much food and water as they need. Afterwards, what the eye has seen, the ear heard and the mouth spoken can remain a secret.’

‘You will massacre the slaves?’ I asked.

‘They will be taken out to the Red Lands,’ Ay agreed, ‘once their task is finished.’

‘And who will be responsible for emptying the tombs in the City of the Aten?’ Pentju demanded.

‘Why, my lord Mahu!’ Ay smiled. ‘Assisted and helped by the Chief Court Physician, Lord Pentju. We will send barges and escorts north when you are ready. It is an excellent proposal.’ He plucked up a date and popped it into his mouth. ‘At the same time, we’ll begin stripping the palaces in the City of the Aten of all their furniture, gold and silver.’ He licked his fingers. ‘I am so glad we are reaching agreement on so many things.’

‘Akenhaten!’ Horemheb’s voice cut like a lash. ‘We should send troops into Canaan.’

‘We are going to send an army into Kush,’ Maya countered. ‘The treasury is exhausted. My lord Horemheb, to invade Canaan we would need an army prepared and provisioned for at least a six-month campaign. The House of Silver cannot afford it. Until the present crisis passes we need every soldier this side of the Horus Road.’

A murmur of agreement greeted his words.

‘We could send assassins.’ Rameses glared at me. ‘My lord Mahu?’

‘Nonsense,’ I countered. ‘It was dangerous enough in the Delta. It will be like looking for a pearl hidden in the sand. That will have to wait. Now, other matters …’

So there, in the Oasis of Sweet Grass, the power of Egypt was settled, the lines drawn, the agenda set. Akenhaten would have to wait. The old ways needed to be published and proclamations posted about what was to happen. It was agreed that stelae would be set up in every major city of Egypt proclaiming that the crisis was over and Egypt once again returning to its former glory. So we passed to other matters: the listing of enemies, of those to be arrested, fined or exiled. The number of executions would be kept to a minimum. Each of us argued for friends. Maya, in particular, demanded a general amnesty and pardon to be issued to Sobeck, that he should be restored to royal favour and given some high-ranking post in the city of Thebes. This was agreed. We moved on to the granaries, the prospect of a good harvest, the need for fresh taxation, the problem of the rebels in Kush. We argued and debated, but beneath the surface, the truth emerged. There were to be three sources of power in Egypt: the first, Horemheb and Rameses and the northern garrisons based at Memphis; the second in Thebes under the thumb of Lord Ay, General Nakhtimin and others of the Akhmin gang; whilst the third would be the Prince and the Keepers of the City of the Aten. For the time being that was the way things would be. Nevertheless, as we finished and prepared to return to Memphis, I wondered what would happen if Tutankhamun died, which of these powerful factions would gain ascendancy?

The sun had set, the desert wind turning chilly as I left the rest of the Royal Circle and returned with Colonel Nebamun to his house on the outskirts of Thebes. A runner, drenched in sweat, greeted us. He threw himself before Nebamun’s chariot, babbling out his message. The Colonel, still slightly drunk from the previous evening as well as the deep cups he had drunk at the Oasis of Sweet Grass, staggered down from his chariot, pulling the man to his feet. He made him repeat the message, whilst I stood in my chariot next to Pentju.

‘The prisoner Khufu, late this afternoon, they had to force his door. He’s hanged himself.’

We hastened back to Nebamun’s house. All was confusion and chaos. My mercenaries, swords drawn, were already gathered in the courtyard. Djarka, locking the young Prince in his room, came to greet me and took me up to Khufu’s quarters. The door lay resting against the splintered lintel and inside, swinging on a rope from a beam, a stool lying on its side beneath, hung the body of Khufu. The thick rope was tied tightly about his neck, his face had turned purple, his eyes were bulging, his swollen tongue caught between his lips. He’d lost control of his bladder in his death throes. A tragic, pathetic corpse swaying slightly on the creaking rope.

‘I came up,’ Djarka explained. ‘A servant had brought him food but he wouldn’t answer the door!’

I ordered Djarka to cut Khufu’s body down whilst I examined the chamber. A square, comfortable room with limewashed walls, a cot bed, a stool, two small tables, chests, and a small divan in the corner piled high with cushions. The door, undoubtedly, had been locked; its stout wooden bolts drawn across the top, bottom and centre. These were now broken, as were the heavy hinges. I noticed the scuff marks on the floor, probably due to the door being forced. The window was square, a thick trellis framework which could be slipped in and out, but only from the inside; the stone lintel on the outside was edged by a rocky rim as protection against robbers. By the dust on the ledge I gathered this wooden framework had not been removed. I gazed through the slats. The chamber overlooked an overgrown part of the garden where the grass sprouted long, thick and high, as if eager to reach the overhanging branches of the sycamore trees. I turned back as Djarka laid the corpse on the floor. I inspected the wrists and fingernails, the ankles, neck and shaven head, but could see no other mark or injury, no bruise or contusion, nothing to suggest that this heretic priest had been the victim of murder. The rope was thick and oiled.

‘Where did he get it from?’ I asked.

‘He was allowed to wander around,’ Nebamun’s chamberlain replied, wringing his hands and looking dolefully at me as if I had lost a close friend rather than a valuable source of information. ‘He wandered the house and out into the garden. My lord,’ he swallowed hard, ‘you told me yourself that Khufu had no desire to escape, that he was safe here.’

I nodded in agreement. When I had left Khufu the previous evening, he had been calm and reassured. He himself had admitted, his final words to me, that he felt safer in Colonel Nebamun’s mansion than any other place in Egypt. At the time I thought it was quite a perceptive remark. Khufu had the wit to realise that other members of the Royal Circle, particularly Lord Ay, might not show him such favour.

‘So what happened today?’

The chamberlain spread his hands. ‘The house was quiet. Apart,’ he added spitefully, ‘from the songs and shouts of your mercenaries. The Prince kept to his chamber with your man Djarka. Khufu wandered down to the kitchens for his food.’ The chamberlain pulled a face. ‘And then, late today, a kitchen boy came up to tell him that food had been served. He knocked and knocked at his door. There was no answer, so I sent for Djarka.’

‘And you forced the door?’ I asked.

Djarka, sitting on the divan in the corner, nodded. I gazed down at Khufu’s face: ugly, contorted in death. According to all the evidence he had committed suicide, taken a rope from the storerooms and returned to his chamber. He had used that stout hook in the ceiling beam, fashioned a noose, stood on the stool and kicked it away. A suicide, the death of a man with no hope. Yet even then, such an explanation didn’t ring true. What had Khufu to fear? I had promised him life, security, exile in some obscure town, but his fate had been far better than others who had been paraded through Memphis in chains. So who would want him dead? The other hyaenas of the Royal Circle? But they had been out with me, hunting in the western desert.

‘Did any strangers call at the house?’

Nebamun’s chamberlain shook his head.

‘I was quite explicit on that.’ Colonel Nebamun spoke up. ‘I gave orders that no one, unless they carried the authority of the Royal Circle, was to be admitted to the upper courtyard.’

Pentju knelt beside the corpse, loosening the rope around the neck, allowing the air to escape from the belly. The dead man’s legs jerked, a macabre scene, as if his Ka was trying to revive the heart. Nebamun cursed quietly under his breath. I asked Pentju to check the corpse carefully. He too looked for injuries, feeling the back of the head and neck, turning the corpse over, pulling up the robe to scrutinise arms and wrists, carefully examining the fingernails for hairs from the rope.

‘Was he drugged?’ I asked.

Pentju smelled the man’s mouth and shook his head.

‘He had drunk some wine but only enough to make him comfortable, hence in his death throes his bladder relaxed.’

‘How long did he take to die?’

Pentju felt the man’s neck and throat. ‘Not long really. He wouldn’t fight against the rope, perhaps a little in his death throes. The life force would be cut off. He would fall into a swoon and death would follow immediately.’

‘And how long has he been dead?’

‘Perhaps three to four hours. His flesh is growing clammy and cold, the muscles hardening.’

A knock on the door, and Nebamun’s chapel priest entered, a small, wizened man. He knelt by the corpse and began to intone the sacred text recited for a man who’d taken his own life: ‘Go back now, you fiery friends from the pit. Go back now, you shadows deeper than the rest. Go back to the Devourer, Fire-eater, Scavenger of Souls …’

I waited for the priest to finish his babbling, and once he had left, asked Nebamun to provide a cart.

‘Have it taken down to the House of Embalming at the Temple of Ptah,’ I ordered. ‘Tell the priest to send all bills, whatever the cost, to the Lord Maya.’

‘Why not throw him into a crocodile pool?’ the old colonel barked. ‘Or better still, I’ll have my men take his body out to the scavengers in the Red Lands.’

‘I promised him life and limb,’ I replied. ‘As a suicide he should fall into the power of the God of the Fiery Hands. So, let his body be embalmed, the chapel priest pray, the hymns be sung, the incense burnt. Find him a tomb in the Necropolis. If you do that, Colonel Nebamun, I have discharged my debt.’

‘He was a traitor.’ Djarka spoke up, using the old Egyptian word, ut-en, to describe a violent man.

‘He was a suicide,’ Nebamun’s chamberlain added. ‘Perhaps his heart should be removed and burnt.’

I gazed at all their faces and realised my mistake. I had forgotten that here in this house, Khufu had been surrounded by his enemies. Good men had been killed in the Delta, members of Nebamun’s squadron, not to mention others.

‘What’s the matter, my lord?’ Djarka asked.

I bit back my reply. I would have to wait. However, standing in that chamber, that gruesome corpse sprawled on the floor, I was as certain as I was that I had two hands and feet that Khufu had been murdered, though by whom, how and why remained a mystery.

I asked Djarka to return to the Prince. Nebamun and his people left. Servants came up with linen sheets to wrap Khufu’s corpse and take it away. Once they had gone I conducted a thorough search. The coffers and chests were empty. Khufu had been dependent upon me for the robes and sandals he wore; all his other property had been declared the spoils of war. I went and stood by the window, staring through the small gaps. The sole way into this chamber was through that trellis, but it could only be removed from the inside. Khufu had been suspicious and wary; he would not allow anyone into his chamber. I went outside and examined the ground beneath the window. It was damp, and looking up, I realised that someone in the chamber above had emptied out a pot of dirty water. There was no sign of anyone standing here; the ground was slightly disturbed, but that could be due to anything.

I returned to the chamber, pulling the bed aside, taking off the sheets. It was then that I found it, a piece of coarse parchment, crumpled and thrown away. I unrolled it; it was in Khufu’s hand. In the centre of this scrap of parchment he had printed the Prince’s name, in its Aten version: ‘Tutankhaten’. Above that, ‘Akenhaten, Nefertiti, Pentju’, and beneath it ‘Budge net ut — Net er ai — en — Hotep’.

‘What did you mean by that?’ I whispered. I racked my memory: Hotep was the son of the God Ptah, the third member of the Memphis triad.

I folded the parchment, put it in my purse and left the chamber. I walked round the house, out across the courtyards and into the musty storerooms. I caught sight of the coils of rope and paused. Surely, I reflected, if Khufu had removed the rope and taken it to his chamber, someone must have seen it? Or had he taken a sheet from his bed and bundled up the rope in that, as if he was carrying a load of dirty linen? I picked up a coil of rope. It was thick and rough, but easy to carry. I sat down on a battered chest and ruefully conceded that I had made a mistake. According to all the evidence, Khufu had committed suicide. It was understandable enough. He might have mistrusted my promises and guarantees for the future. Yet I knew he had been murdered, and this made me admit to a second mistake. Khufu had known more than he had told me. Perhaps he was biding his time before making a full confession about other mysteries, such as why Meryre and his fellow conspirators placed so much importance on Pentju. Did that learned physician also know more than he had ever told us? About what? The Prince’s health? I got to my feet. Was that it? Did Pentju know something as a doctor? After all, I had seen Tutankhamun experience that eerie trance when he seemed unable to hear, see or be aware of anyone around him. How old was the Prince now? Between seven and eight? Akenhaten had been disturbed in both body and mind, and although Princess Khiya, Tutankhamun’s mother, had been a friend, I knew nothing about her ailments.

I left the storeroom and, absorbed in my thoughts, returned to my own chamber, where I washed and changed, turning the problem over and over in my mind like a piece of meat on a spit. I oiled and perfumed my face and hands and went along to the Prince’s chamber. He had the small tortoises out, laughing at how slowly they walked, urging Djarka to join him, but his Protector just sat on a stool, lost in his own thoughts. Tutankhamun jumped to his feet and threw himself at me, burrowing his face in my robe. I crouched down.

‘Your Highness, you look well.’

‘He slept very late,’ Djarka replied. ‘He heard you leave for the hunt and then went back to bed.’

I held the Prince’s face between my hands, beautiful, oval-shaped, those great lustrous dark eyes watching me intently, trying to anticipate my mood. Sometimes he had a look of Akenhaten, a stare full of innocence yet, as with his father, that could be a pretence, a mask concealing the emotions seething within. Of course Khiya was the same. When she first came to Akenhaten’s court she would sit at my feet and stare adoringly up as a disciple would at his master.

‘Uncle Mahu, what is wrong?’

‘Are you well, Your Highness?’

‘I am always well, Uncle Mahu. Is it true what Colonel Nebamun said? Did you kill a bull today?’

‘With my own hands, Your Highness.’ I got to my feet, spreading out my arms. ‘I chased after him in my chariot, the Lord Pentju driving it as fast as a storm cloud. We drew alongside. I leapt from the chariot on to the bull’s back, seized its horns and twisted its neck.’

Tutankhamun stared at me open-mouthed.

‘I wrestled it to the ground,’ I continued, watching him intently, fear pricking at my heart. Was the Prince a simpleton? Or just so full of hero-worship he truly believed my ridiculous story? ‘The bull crashed beneath me,’ I continued. ‘I drew my dagger and slit its throat, then another one charged me.’

Tutankhamun broke from his reverie; he threw his head back and laughed, a beautiful, soul-catching sound.

‘You lie, Uncle Mahu, you are telling me stories.’

‘How did you know?’ I picked him up, hugging him close. ‘How did you know that I was telling a story? Are you saying,’ I kept my face stern, ‘that I am not strong enough to wrestle a bull to the ground? That I am not fleet of foot, strong of arm, cunning of mind?’ I pressed my face close to him. ‘You are my prisoner,’ I continued, squeezing him. ‘I’ll hold you fast till you answer.’

Tutankhamun loved the game, squealing with delight.

‘I’ll confess. I’ll confess.’

I placed him on the floor.

‘You couldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘Not because you can’t, but the Lord Pentju cannot control horses. Djarka has told me. An ox can pull a cart faster.’

I beamed at the little fellow.

‘How is his schooling going?’

Djarka gestured at the writing tray, stacks of parchment and clay tablets scattered on a nearby table.

‘He can write and count.’

‘He can write and count,’ Tutankhamun abruptly mimicked. I caught his stare, the first time I had ever seen it; his quick glance at Djarka was full of imperiousness, or was it resentment? When he looked back at me, that dazzling smile had returned. ‘Next time you hunt, Uncle Mahu, can I come with you?’

I promised him he could, kissed him absent-mindedly on the forehead and left. I went up on the roof to catch the cool evening breeze. Nebamun’s chamberlain brought me some fruit and a jug of chilled beer. He was still full of regret at Khufu’s death. I asked if he had seen anything untoward.

‘If I had, my lord, I would have told you.’ And mumbling under his breath, he left me to my own thoughts.

Ankhesenamun, together with Amedeta and other members of the Princess’ retinue, arrived just after dark. She was garbed in perfume, eyes kohl-ringed, all flirtatious, seizing my hands, kissing me on either cheek, allowing me to smell her beautiful fragrance.

‘The great hero,’ she teased. ‘You will, Uncle Mahu,’ she mimicked Tutankhamun’s favourite name for me, ‘tell me about your exploits. After the battle, did you seize the maidens of the usurper and take them roughly,’ her eyelids fluttered, ‘amidst the corpses of their menfolk?’

‘You should have been a storyteller, my lady.’

Still grasping her hand, I led her deeper into the house.

‘A storyteller, Uncle Mahu?’

I looked over my shoulder. Amedeta and the other maids were now being greeted by Colonel Nebamun, Pentju and the rest. I pulled her into the shadows.

‘My lord!’ The smile disappeared from her face.

‘That story you told me,’ I hissed. ‘One lie amongst many! You claimed that your sister Meritaten said your father was poisoned.’

‘That’s what she said to me, but you know Meritaten.’ Ankhesenamun’s beautiful eyes sparkled with life. ‘She was a greater storyteller than I.’

‘Did your mother,’ I asked, ‘ever tell you what happened?’

‘Why should she? Mother disliked me. She saw me as a usurper. The same for Meritaten. If she had survived, I doubt I would have.’ She withdrew her hand. ‘I do not know what happened to my father. I do not know what thoughts filled my mother’s heart. Now they are gone, yet I remain. Think about that, Lord Mahu. Our little Prince grows. One day I shall introduce him to the pleasures of the bed. I shall be Egypt’s Great Queen.’ She brushed by me, walking stately down to join the rest, lovely robes billowing about her.

Pentju must have noticed our altercation, because he came hurrying up. Now I thought, for even in the poor light Pentju was obviously agitated, here’s a man who hides something in his heart.

‘My lord, there is something wrong? You look troubled.’ Pentju took me by the elbow and led me away. ‘I grew up with you, I was a Child of the Kap. I know you.’

‘Do you, my lord?’ I replied frostily. ‘Then you are a better man than I.’

Pentju led me into a small courtyard.

‘What is this, Mahu? We are friends.’

‘Are we?’

Pentju made a gesture of annoyance, walked away but came back. ‘What are you so suspicious about, Mahu? You don’t believe Khufu committed suicide, do you?’

‘No, I think he was murdered.’

‘But by whom? Why?’

‘I asked the same question myself. I also wonder why my lord Meryre was so eager for you to join him.’ I took out my purse and drew out the scrap of parchment, unfolded it and held it before Pentju’s eyes. ‘Why should Khufu write that?’

Pentju went to take the scrap but I held it tight. ‘Why does he mention you, Akenhaten and Nefertiti in the same line, then make these references to Hotep the son of Ptah and other members of the Memphis trinity. What do you know, Pentju, about Tutankhamun? Are there further secrets?’

Although he tried to hide it, the physician’s agitation quickened so much he had to turn away, rubbing his hand up and down his chest as if trying to soothe some pain. I grasped him by the shoulder.

‘Come, my lord, you’ve confronted me. I am the Prince’s Protector, his guardian. We can discuss this here or in the presence of the rest.’

Pentju turned round. I was shocked by the change in his face. He seemed to have aged.

‘What is it?’ I insisted.

‘You’ve seen the Prince,’ he replied slowly. ‘I know from Djarka that you once found him in a trance, acting like a blind-deaf mute.’

‘And?’ I asked.

‘We physicians know nothing of the heart, of the soul. If a snake bites you we know how the poison will race through your body and stop your heart. But madness, insanity, the strange workings of the soul?’ He shook his head. ‘We know nothing.’

I sat down on a small wall seat.

‘I am concerned.’ Pentju chose his words carefully. ‘As you know, my lord Mahu,’ he lapsed into formal phraseology without realising it, ‘I was appointed physician to the Royal Household. Great Queen Tiye took me into her confidence. She told me that her blood was marred by a streak of madness. These trances the young Prince suffers from,’ Pentju licked his lips, ‘Akenhaten, when he was a young boy, suffered the same.’

Even then, yes, I will admit, I sensed that Pentju was not telling me the full truth. Yet at the time, the implication of what he was saying was sufficient to chill my heart.

‘I do worry.’ Pentju came and sat beside me. ‘Mahu, we have all walked down a long, dangerous road, only to find ourselves not at the end of the journey but at the beginning of an equally terrifying one. My dreams are full of that. What happens if Tutankhamun is his father come again? Has Akenhaten’s son inherited the same vision, the same absorption? Will he, too, turn Egypt on its head?’

‘That’s for the future,’ I rasped. ‘These attacks? Are they dangerous?’

‘I have studied every medical text.’ Pentju sighed. ‘That’s one of the reasons I was in Memphis. I visited its House of Life. These trances cannot be explained. I don’t know what causes them or how to treat them, except to keep the patient warm and comfortable.’

‘What brings them on?’ I asked. ‘Will they pass?’

Pentju edged closer. ‘As you say, Mahu, that’s for the future. What terrifies me is the likes of Horemheb discovering what you know and arguing that our Prince is not fit to govern the Kingdom of the Two Lands.’