The Season of the Hyaena

Chapter 13

I remember this poem. I composed it that evening as I tried to quieten my heart. Pentju’s words had quickened my own agitation, my deep concerns for the future of the Prince. I felt soiled, dirty, polluted by the past, the way it would give no release and allow us to continue. In a way Akenhaten still ruled Egypt. He certainly ruled my heart. I thought as much when I bathed again in the Pool of Purity, then oiled and perfumed my body, putting on my chain of office and sparkling rings in preparation for the small banquet Nebamun’s cooks were preparing. I asked Djarka to play the double flute and, for a while, listened to Tutankhamun sing. He had a good, carrying voice and his singing always thrilled me. When he had finished, I let my soul go back into the past, to meet her, the Beautiful Woman. No, not Nefertiti the murderess during those last gloomy days in the City of the Aten, but the red-haired, blue-eyed young woman who had captivated my heart when I had first met her. I wrote those lines that night but, after a while, gave up to stare through the window, half listening to the sounds of the servants as they prepared the tables.

Colonel Nebamun was most gracious. He allowed us to sit and eat, as I jokingly put it, ‘as a family household again’. Ankhesenamun simply glowered at me, but Tutankhamun clapped his hands and thought it was a splendid treat. We sat before the small tables, cushions piled around us. Alabaster cups, brimming with wine and beer, were served first to whet our appetites and appease our thirst. We began with dried and salted roe, grey mullet and small fishcakes. The main dish was roast goose, served in a spiced sauce in which we could dip the soft white bread fresh from the house bakeries. Djarka and Pentju were there. Khufu’s death soul hung like a shadow around us, though the conversation grew livelier when I announced that we were to return to the City of the Aten.

Ankhesenamun was furious. ‘The City of the Dead,’ she snapped. ‘Everybody is leaving! Thebes is the place to be. How can we go to the markets? What about clothes and perfumes? No one goes to the place of the Aten.’

Tutankhamun, however, was pleased at the news. Thebes had frightened him, with its busy streets and soaring temples. I explained patiently how it would be best if, for a while, the Royal Family stayed in the shadows.

‘Egypt is not at peace,’ Pentju confirmed. ‘The City of the Aten is much safer. Colonel Nebamun will be our guard, we shall be protected.’ He smiled at Tutankhamun. ‘Whilst its gardens are truly beautiful.’

‘Do you want to go there, Uncle Mahu?’ Tutankhamun chewed noisily on a piece of bread. ‘And what about Sobeck?’ The Prince had taken a great liking to my companion, who had regaled him with frightening tales of life in the slums and ghost stories about the Necropolis.

‘I think it’s best, Your Highness, if we do. You and the Princess Ankhesenamun will one day marry and then be crowned Pharaoh and Queen of Egypt.’

‘I am going to ride in the state chariot,’ Tutankhamun declared. ‘Uncle Mahu, you will be my charioteer. I shall wage war on the vile Asiatics and the Kushites; they shall tremble before my name.’

We all began to tease him; I let the conversation drift for a while.

‘There’s something you want to say, isn’t there, Uncle Mahu?’ Ankhesenamun asked spitefully. She and Amedeta sat close together. They looked like twins, two beautiful spoiled women with an eye for mischief. Both of them had spent most of the meal flirting outrageously with Djarka. At first he had been dour, but as he had drunk more deeply, he had responded wittily to their barbed remarks.

‘Yes, Uncle Mahu.’ Djarka now joined in the teasing.

I glanced warningly at them and nodded towards Tutankhamun, now rattling an ivory-handled knife against his alabaster cup.

‘Do you know who the Watchers are? Has anyone ever made reference to them?’

Pentju shook his head. Djarka cracked a joke about Horemheb and Rameses. Ankhesenamun wondered aloud if I was referring to spies, so I let the matter drop.

The next morning we slept late, and when I rose, I immediately became involved in the preparations for the return to the City of the Aten. Colonel Nebamun was pleased that he had received a commission, loudly declaring that he would rather be patrolling the Red Lands than confined to barracks.

A week later we left Memphis. The other members of the Royal Circle came down to the quayside to make a solemn farewell, their shouts and good wishes carrying across the water. Horemheb and Rameses were eager to return to the Delta to reinforce law and order, whilst Nakhtimin, Maya and Huy were full of the preparations for their return to Thebes. I gathered from Nebamun that prisoners were still being tortured, but if fresh information was dragged from them, Ay kept it a secret.

Our journey back to the City of the Aten was full of pomp, a colourful flotilla led by two great barges, The Glory of Amun and The Power of Ra, bedecked with standards and streamers, gilded prows and sterns dazzling in the sun. All around us clustered war barges full of soldiers with their armour, chariots and horses. For a short while a boatload of musicians, together with the temple choirs, made sweet music, their songs and hymns echoing across the water. After a while they left us and we continued our journey with as much speed as I could urge. Ay had made sure that Tutankhamun would want for nothing. Big-bellied barges full of provisions accompanied us, as well as a host of flunkeys and court retainers to serve in the Prince’s household. Some of these officials were from Thebes, others handpicked at Memphis. Djarka and I had already decided that once we reached the City of the Aten, we would interrogate them ourselves and try to discover which were the Lord Ay’s spies, not to mention those whom Horemheb, Rameses, Maya and Huy would also place with the Prince to watch and whisper and keep them informed about what was happening.

‘We’ll have more spies here than we do in the House of Secrets,’ I murmured to Djarka as we stood in the stern, staring at the flotilla of boats around us.

‘Each of the Great Ones,’ he agreed, ‘have nominated people, flunkeys or musicians, stable boys or kitchen cooks. How dangerous are they?’

‘To the life of the Prince,’ I replied, ‘no danger whatsoever. It’s in everyone’s interests that our young boy reaches maturity, becomes Pharaoh and begets an heir. It’s as simple as that. Tutankhamun will keep the peace in Egypt.’

‘And what about Meryre?’

‘You heard my lord Ay. He will be hunted down. That is,’ I smiled thinly, ‘if he isn’t dead already.’

Indeed, the whereabouts of Meryre and the other members of the Aten cult still concerned me. Despite my diffident observations about him, Meryre was a Child of the Kap, a cunning, astute man who had come within a hair’s-breadth of bringing about a revolution in Egypt. A man full of his own ambition and vision of the way things should be, rather than what they were. But while the Royal Circle had been busy issuing proclamations and decrees against him, one serious problem had been virtually ignored. Canaan was still gripped by unrest, and every report we received pointed to the growing power of the Hittites. Nebamun had voiced this concern. Would the Hittites break out of their mountain fastness and sweep south, overrunning the Canaanite princelings, not stopping till they reached Sinai? What if, I wondered, Meryre and his followers fled to the Hittites for protection, or even tried to set up a government in exile? Or worse still, discovered the true whereabouts of Akenhaten? I decided to let matters rest, though they were lurking nightmares. All I could do was look after the Prince and take whatever measures were necessary for his safety.

Five days after leaving Memphis, our barges swung left towards the City of the Aten and its waiting quaysides. Go there now and it is nothing but a burning, desolate sea of sand, a warren of ruins in a vast amphitheatre ringed by limestone cliffs. However, on our return, the city dazzled in the sun, the fertile strip beside the Nile was still being cultivated and the quaysides were busy. The vineyards and gardens were flowering and the temples of pink and white limestone eye-catching in their beauty. It was a city of sun temples and pleasure parks, of well-laid-out paradises with fruit trees and orchards planted in the black soil of Canaan. Artificial lakes, stocked with golden fish, shimmered in the sun; the blue and white lotus buds floating on top exuded a powerful, cloying perfume. The great avenue was kept in good repair and lined with colonnaded walks, their pillars and columns of different colours. The City of the Aten still glowed like a jewel.

The Royal Palace towered over all, an elegant building with its bricks of glazed blue faience, its lintels, doorways and entrances of dazzling white limestone surmounted by silver masts from which red, blue and green streamers fluttered in the breeze. Inside the palace lay splendid chambers with glazed tiled floors, walls decorated with vivid, eye-catching paintings. At first sight, it had all the splendour and majesty of the Malkata, except for one aspect which Djarka shrewdly commented on as we left the quayside and made our way up to the great central palace of the Aten. The city was quiet, lacking the frenetic clamour, the constant noise of Memphis or Thebes. The market squares had their booths and stalls, and yet the crowds did not surge there; it was more of a mausoleum than a great city of Egypt. Some of the population had stayed, especially the craftsmen and the merchants, because the City of the Aten was well placed on the Nile, halfway between Memphis and Thebes, an important trading post for those who made it their business to sell and buy along the river. Of course, Lord Ay had been busy, issuing orders and proclamations for the palaces, temples and other royal buildings to be prepared for our return. Yet in reality, the City of the Aten was no better than a summerhouse, a place of retreat for quiet and calm. No decrees, edicts or proclamations had been issued against it. The Royal Circle did not want to kill the city or destroy its buildings; simply leave it to its own devices. If it survived then it would be just another city; if it lingered and died, it would be quietly and quickly forgotten.

We took up quarters at the heart of the palace, in rooms which looked over a central courtyard where the passageways and entrance could be easily guarded. The next few weeks were busy with the unloading of cabinets, beds, chairs and chests. Flowers had to be gathered for bouquets, the kitchen organised. Djarka and I interrogated all the servants, sifting out those who might be spies, though, of course, Ankhesenamun was the principal source of information for the Lord Ay. My mercenaries I trusted, men of the Medjay, Kushites and a few Libyans, braggarts, drinkers, but good fighting men. I paid them well and made sure they were comfortable in defensive rings around our quarters. They were under strict orders: people were only to be allowed to pass if they carried warrants or letters bearing my seal. Anyone else was to be treated as hostile. Colonel Nebamun’s chariot squadron arrived, organised on a rota basis; they set up permanent camp along the clifftops with regular forays out into the eastern desert, whilst General Nakhtimin’s guards supervised all river traffic.

The news of the Prince’s return soon became well known. The city became an attraction for the merchants and traders eager to sell their goods and produce to the court. The weeks slipped into months as we settled down, establishing a harmonious if boring routine. I was determined on that. Naturally, I listened to the news from Thebes. If Ay and the rest had their spies in the City of the Aten, I still controlled a legion of whisperers and tale-tellers in Thebes organised by Sobeck, who was always eager to pass on the chatter and gossip of the city drinking-booths and eating-houses. Lord Ay was quick to move, establishing his power as First Minister in practice if not in name. Justice was ruthlessly and speedily dispensed. The usurper and all his companions were paraded in chains through Thebes for the mockery of the mob. Ay himself carried out public executions in the incense-filled courtyards of Karnak, crushing the skulls of his enemies and hanging his victims in chains from the Wall of Death. Huy and Maya were equally busy. New taxes were raised, the House of Silver replenished, granaries filled, whilst envoys were sent across Sinai and beyond the Third Cataract to inform our allies that the new power of Egypt was not to be taken lightly. Ay also kept his word about the dead. Slave gangs were moved into the Valley of the Kings, where caves were dug, tombs constructed, the Mansions of Eternity prepared for those whose corpses mouldered above the City of the Aten.

Late in the season of Shemsu, the second year of Tutankhamun’s reign, Ay dispatched a letter asking that the tombs in the eastern cliffs of the City of the Aten be emptied and the coffins and sarcophagi be transported by night along the Nile to Thebes. I personally supervised this. I had made my preparations well. The tombs in the limestone cliffs above the City of the Aten, about thirty in all, were arranged in two patterns, some in the northern cliffs, others in the south, whilst Akenhaten had chosen a sepulchre in the centre of these mountains, in line with the rising sun. Of course, Ankhesenamun, and even Tutankhamun, wished to be present. The tombs themselves were ringed by high protective walls, entered by a double-barred gate, which was guarded by my mercenaries. Some of the tombs contained nothing, empty caverns with little more than wall paintings; others were full. I began the grisly task of bringing out the dead. The tombs were treasure troves, full of costly possessions and beautifully gilded coffins and caskets. My scribes made a precise inventory. Each item was tagged and carefully noted before being lifted on to a waiting cart and transported down to the quayside. I had commandeered certain warehouses where these relics could be stored till the barges arrived. It was an eerie experience to walk amongst the dead, to stand in a burial chamber, the oil lamps and torches flickering, the air thick and cloying with the smell of natron, perfume and the rich odours of the embalming oils.

In some cases the task was easy. The coffins and caskets were all carefully prepared, but I also witnessed the devastating effects of the hideous plague which had swept through the City of the Aten. The embalmers had been too busy, their ranks depleted by the ravages of the pestilence. Bodies had been hastily prepared, often doused in baths of pure natron, which dried the flesh and turned the bones brittle, before being hastily lifted into makeshift chests and boxes and lodged in the burial chambers with little ceremony. Many of these had rotted and crumbled, the remains inside nothing more than a heap of bones and dust. I did my best, with the help of the priests and scribes, to observe the rites, to honour the dead, yet it was a thankless task. I did not believe in the afterlife. When a man dies, his soul dies with him. Standing in those gloomy chambers where dried-out corpses half protruded from arrow chests or wooden boxes, it was difficult to conceive of the Land of the Blessed, of the fertile fields of Yalou where the green-skinned God Osiris ruled. We worked, our mouths and nostrils covered with strips of linen dipped in perfume. Occasionally we had to stop, to be free of the dust, to go out and catch the soothing air, or simply to sit in the sunlight so as to drive the shadows away.

The news spread through the city. Crowds of sightseers surged up the cliff paths. There were few protests. The tombs had been the preserve of members of Akenhaten’s family and court, the coffins of the workers and traders being buried elsewhere. Every day the macabre work continued. After sunset, a sombre torch-lit procession escorted the creaking carts, pulled by lowing oxen, down from the clifftops. The treasures, of course, were carefully hidden under cloths and closely guarded. We began in the north and then moved to those in the south. Pentju was present when his family tomb was opened. He cried quietly as the coffins of his wife, children and kinsmen were taken out into the sunlight, the treasure buried with them stacked about. The coffins were sealed and secured. I would have loved to have examined their contents, but that would have provoked a major confrontation. I hid my curiosity, putting more trust in the letter I had sent to Sobeck in Thebes.

On my return to the City of the Aten, I had made careful examination about the chief embalmer Nefertiti had used, the one Khufu described as ‘the Stammerer’. At first no one knew of his whereabouts; a few claimed he had died. However, a well-to-do trader who did business with the fishing fleets sold me the information that the Stammerer, together with his wealth, had boarded a barge shortly after Queen Nefertiti’s death and secretly returned to Thebes. I decided to wait on developments.

At last all the tombs were empty. I let matters rest for a while and then, accompanied by my mercenary captain, entered the courtyard which led to Akenhaten’s tomb, the royal burial place in the centre of the limestone cliffs. The courtyard in front of it was empty of all statues, the flower baskets had long rotted to nothing but dark dried masses in the corner. The workmen I had brought were most reluctant to start, but I paid a chapel priest to gabble a few solemn prayers. I informed the workmen that their task was blessed by the Gods and would be the source of great profit for themselves and their families. The wall leading into the entrance of the tomb was shattered, the plaster and brickwork beyond pulled away to reveal a long passageway. The tomb followed the pattern of others except that its tunnels and chambers were most majestic, a truly sombre underworld. The torchlight illuminated the paintings on the walls. The tomb had been planned as a place of glory, though its artwork had never been finished, due to the plague as well as the crisis caused by the rift between Akenhaten and Nefertiti. I walked into the royal burial chamber, which housed the coffins of Akenhaten’s five daughters and the blue and gold casket of his Queen, the Glorious Nefertiti. I stood for a while staring down at this, recalling how after her death the Lord Ay had given his daughter’s corpse over to the embalmers. The seventy-day funeral period had not been observed. Haste had been the order of the day. Nevertheless, she had been given a coffin worthy of a queen, though probably not the one she had intended.

I went back to the entrance and led the workmen in. The coffins were taken out whilst I continued my search of the underground passageways and chambers. It was like walking the empty cellars of a house. Here and there frescoes caught my eye, yet there was nothing else. A gloomy place, manifesting the glory and majesty of Akenhaten’s court. I reached the end of the tunnel and walked back. Ahead of me I could hear the cries of the workmen as they manoeuvred the coffins up the steps. I had to walk carefully; the floor was still strewn with rubble, and in many places the walls of the tunnel were of rough, undressed stone. When I reached a part of the tunnel where the wall was smooth, I stopped and peered closer, raising my torch to make out the outline of a small square neatly plastered over. I shouted at the workmen, and their supervisor came hurrying down. He too examined the plaster carefully, tapping at it, pressing his ear against it.

‘My lord, there is another chamber beyond. A secret one. This is not a door, but a window leading into it.’

I stood back. The square was about two yards high, the same across.

‘Break it down,’ I ordered.

‘My lord, be careful.’ The overseer’s dusty face was full of fear.

‘Why, man, what’s the matter?’

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

‘It’s a hidden chamber.’ The overseer pointed to the marks around the plaster, ones that I hadn’t noticed. I lifted the torch and peered at the magical symbols cursing anyone who broke through this wall. The usual nonsense: the eye of Horus, the striking Cobra …

‘The Gods are far too busy,’ I replied, ‘to care about a hole in the wall.’

‘It’s not the Gods,’ the overseer replied, ‘but what might lie beyond.’

I told him to break the plaster down, and stepped back as he and his companions swung their mallets and picks. The plaster was thick, but eventually they cleared a space no bigger than a window. I peered through the darkness and glimpsed pinpoints of light, as if there had been holes drilled in the rocks above. I tossed the torch inside. It extinguished as it fell, but in its final flare, I glimpsed the outline of a red quartzite sarcophagus at the far end of a low-ceilinged chamber. The workmen stood back, chattering amongst themselves. I returned to look at the hieroglyphs and could make out the faint words Shesha Shemet, the Arrows of Sekhmet. It was a common curse, threatening an intruder with the fury of the Destroyer, but it only whetted my curiosity. I reasoned that this was the Royal Tomb, and that the only people who had had control over it were Akenhaten and Nefertiti. Akenhaten had given up all hope of realising his vision about the City of the Aten, so this secret chamber and its concealed entrance must be the work of his estranged wife.

Once the dust had cleared, I poked my head through. The faint streaks of light came from small holes or vents piercing the rock above. The overseer was now jabbering with his comrades. An argument broke out. I was about to intervene when a young man pushed his way through, boasting that he was not frightened, openly deriding his companions’ fears.

‘My lord, I will go in.’

‘Are you sure?’ The workman was free-born, not a slave or servant.

‘My lord, I am not afraid.’

He jumped on to the crumbling sill and stepped down. He had hardly taken a step forward when, with a hideous crash, he disappeared in a cloud of dust. The entire cavern was riven by his shrill cry, followed by the most hideous screams. I seized a torch and looked over. The floor beneath the opening had concealed a trap: a simple plaster covering concealing a pit with sharpened stakes. The young man lay gruesomely impaled, eyes bright with agony, blood-smattered mouth gasping in horror. The stakes were long and sharp as spears and had pierced his body in a number of places. He screamed, trying to raise his hands, then sagged, head falling to one side. There was nothing we could do for him. Planks were brought and lowered over. The ground beyond the pit seemed firm and hard. Another workman, bribed by the overseer, gingerly climbed on to the plank and clambered down. The light of the torch he carried revealed more of the chamber. It was roughly cut, the walls unplastered, and contained nothing but the blood-red quartzite sarcophagus. The workman reached the end of the plank and probed the ground before him with a stick.

‘It stands firm,’ he called out. He stepped off the plank, moving towards the sarcophagus, but tripped face down. He rolled in agony, screaming and yelling, then pulled himself up, still clutching the torch. He lifted his head: a nightmare sight. His face and chest were streaked with blood. He staggered back, dancing in pain, and scrambled towards the plank across the pit, but screamed, lost his balance and tipped on to the stakes below.

The workmen would have fled, but by now the mercenaries at the entrance, alarmed by the noise, had come hurrying down and forced them back. I ordered skins of oil to be brought, cut and thrown, one after the other, into that hellish chamber. Flaming arrows were loosed in a volley of fire. The arrows caught the oil and the fire leapt up. In its glare the true horror of the chamber was revealed. I glimpsed the trip cord pulled across the floor and the razor-sharp glass, copper and bronze blades embedded in the ground, but the real danger were the black curling shapes, rock vipers, coiled skins gleaming in the light.

‘A common trick, my lord,’ the overseer whispered hoarsely. He pointed to the gaps in the roof. ‘They were placed here and allowed to nest.’

In the flames I could see how the far wall of the chamber jutted out like a ramp. The snakes could leave, squirming out into the daylight whenever they wished, and return the same way.

Nefertiti had planned well. A concealed pit, a trip line, razor-sharp points embedded in the floor and baskets of vipers to turn the chamber into their own nest. I ordered more fire to be brought so that every inch of the floor of that concealed chamber was purified. Whilst the flames roared, we withdrew to the entrance, the smoke billowing out behind us. The news of our terrifying find had quickly spread. Pentju and others came hurrying up the cliff paths to discover what was happening. Once the flames had died down, we returned to the gap; part of the roof, deliberately weakened, had also come crashing down.

‘Kheb, kheb,’ Pentju breathed. ‘A trap within a trap. Why, Mahu? What does the sarcophagus contain?’

‘I don’t know,’ I smiled grimly, ‘but I am determined to find out.’

Once the fire was out and the chamber cooled, I climbed over, stout marching boots on my feet. Armed with a sword, a club thrust in the sash round my robe, I clambered down on to the freshly placed plank, moving cautiously, ignoring the chatter of the others behind me. I edged across the floor until I reached the sarcophagus, and grasped it, my hands protected by the thick leather gauntlets the overseer had warned me to wear. I felt tentatively beneath its rim. Here, too, razor-sharp pieces of copper and bronze had been embedded. I carefully walked round the sarcophagus. It was at least a yard and a half high and about two yards across. I crouched down and ran my hands across the surface. I made out the hieroglyphs cut into the quartzite: an owl, a human hand and arm, a pool of water above a mouth sign, a lion at rest, a quail chick under the night sky, a broken sceptre, a loop of cord over a water ripple. The inscription contained a dire curse: anyone who tampered with this sarcophagus would be cursed by the Gods from morning till evening and know no peace for his soul. I was already cursed, so I didn’t care.

The others now joined me, Pentju included. The workmen brought mallets and crowbars and, after a great deal of exertion, broke free the lid. We pushed it to one side and it crashed to the ground, splitting as it bounced against the nearby wall. The coffin inside was a work of art, its blue-gold dazzling in the torchlight. The death mask was that of a Pharaoh, with brilliant dark blue faience serving as the eyes. The sarcophagus contained no traps, but nothing to indicate what it actually held.

It took us two days to remove the coffin from its concealed chamber and take it out to a waiting cart. I realised the casket would contain others within it, so I ordered it to be taken into the palace and kept in a small garden temple carefully guarded by my mercenaries. I decided not to investigate immediately. On that same day, a flotilla of barges arrived from Thebes to take the other coffers and treasure back along the river to the Necropolis in the Valley of the Kings. It took most of the day and late into the evening to load the barges, the coffins being received by officials wearing the black and gold jackal masks of Anubis. An eerie sight, as darkness fell: priests and guards in their hideous masks, torches lit, the evening air full of the smell of incense and the mournful song of the funeral march. The crowds were kept away. Only Pentju and our mercenary officers were on the quayside to watch that sombre procession leave, boat after boat, each carrying coffins, caskets and hoards of treasure.

The chief mortuary priest had informed me how the new tombs had been prepared in the Valley of the Nobles and the Valley of the Kings, but that would not be enough. Other royal graves had been opened, so coffins could be placed there as a temporary measure. At the time I did not care what the Lord Ay had arranged. I was more concerned with my own discovery, which I kept secret from Lord Ay’s spies. The next morning I began the grim task of opening the coffins. The first was quite easy; it contained a second within, again a work of art, its gesso overlaid with gold leaf and blue faience studded with precious jewels. The mask was that of a Pharaoh with features similar to those of Akenhaten’s elder brother Tuthmosis. I realised that whoever had supervised this burial had plundered the royal storerooms for the coffins and funeral paraphernalia. I was assisted by my overseer and two of his workmen, who were both sworn and bribed to secrecy, whilst Pentju, as a physician, was also ready to help. He had already pointed out that neither the funeral chamber nor the sarcophagus contained any treasure. More importantly, the four canopic jars were missing: the sacred vessels, their lids carved in the shape of the head of a God, which were supposed to hold the preserved entrails of the dead person.

The second coffin was much more difficult to prise open. So much embalming resin had been used that the lid stuck and we had to use crowbars, hammers and chisels to break it free. It revealed a corpse bound in funeral cloths held in place by tight cords. The cloth and cords had turned black due to the embalming resin which had been poured in. The corpse itself was shrunken and shrivelled, the heart plucked out, the skin stone dry, the bones so brittle they crumbled in our hands. The eyes had also been removed but no jewels or precious stones placed there.

‘Whoever did this,’ Pentju observed, ‘did not wish this man well.’

At first I had been fearful that these were the remains of Akenhaten. The corpse was that of a tall, broad-shouldered man. However, the face and head, completely shaven, betrayed none of the tell-tale features of a man I had served since childhood, and there were no inscriptions, no marks, nothing to indicate who this dead person had been.

‘He certainly wasn’t loved by those who buried him,’ Pentju repeated. He tapped the desiccated stomach and pointed to the embalmer’s long incisions on the left side. ‘The belly was opened and the entrails removed, but they weren’t buried with him in canopic jars; they were probably burned. The heart has been removed, the eyes not replaced, so he will not be able to find his way through the Underworld.’

‘Who?’ I asked. ‘Who could it be?’

Pentju inspected the corpse noting the high cheekbones in the long skull, and the thigh and feet bones.

‘He was not a courtier,’ he declared, ‘but someone who walked a great deal over rough terrain so the soles of his feet became coarsened.’

‘Why is the corpse so dry?’ I asked.

‘Because he was buried in haste,’ Pentju replied. ‘The usual period for embalmment is seventy days; that’s how long it takes to dry out a corpse. However, if you place the cadaver into a bath of natron, specially strengthened, the process is quickened. This is the result. Skin dry as a dead leaf, bones as brittle as stale bread.’

I now became aware of the rather vile odour seeping from the grisly remains: a mixture of natron, embalming perfume and that foul stench of corruption which Pentju claimed was the result of the corpse not being properly cleaned before being sealed into its coffin. We inspected both the corpse and the two coffins, but could find no clue. I ordered the remains to be gathered together, the second coffin placed back inside the first, which was to be resealed, whilst the small temple was to be fumigated and doused in perfume.

‘What will you do?’ Pentju asked as we left.

I told the captain of the guard to maintain a close watch and led my physician friend across to the Pool of Purity, where we stripped and bathed. Pentju repeated his question as we clambered out, drying ourselves with the towels servants brought, together with fresh robes I had ordered from the palace.

‘What shall we do, Pentju? We shall reflect. That secret chamber was definitely built by Nefertiti, the sarcophagus probably intended for her husband. The coffins and the death masks are from the royal storerooms. I suspect Nefertiti intended to proclaim herself as Pharaoh and to use that corpse, claiming it to be her husband. If she had established her rule, if the coup had not taken place, Nefertiti would have arranged a state funeral, a mockery of a public ceremony, to quell all rumours about her husband still being alive. I don’t think she intended to bury him here but arrange some solemn flotilla which would have taken his coffin back to join those of his ancestors in the city of Thebes. Don’t forget, Pentju, in the early years of his reign Akenhaten did order a tomb for himself in the Valley of the Kings.’

At first Pentju disagreed, but reluctantly he conceded that my theory might be correct.

‘I just wonder,’ he added wryly, ‘how much of this the Lord Ay knew.’

‘More important,’ I replied, ‘whom did she kill? When Khufu confessed, he declared he’d heard a hideous scream from the imperial quarters, as if someone was being murdered. I suspect we have found Nefertiti’s victim.’

Three days later, whilst I was still wondering what to do with the corpse and its coffins, Sobeck arrived in the City of the Aten, accompanied by what he called his ‘retinue’, a gang of the most ruthless ruffians from the slums of Thebes. He came to the palace and demanded an audience. When we met, he clasped my hand and embraced me warmly, kissing me on each cheek.

‘You should be careful, Mahu,’ he whispered, his lips next to my ear. ‘The Lord Ay’s power grows. He’s making himself a king in Thebes.’

‘And you?’ I asked, stepping back.

He spread his hands. ‘I have been pardoned. I have now been proclaimed “Great Friend of the Royal Circle”. My sins, although scarlet, are washed away. I have been appointed Overseer of the Imperial Granaries in Eastern and Western Thebes. I have also been given a mansion standing in its own fertile grounds near the Great Mooring Place only a mile from the Temple of Luxor.’ He let his hands drop. ‘The mansion once belonged to one of Meryre’s supporters; Maya tells me he won’t be needing it any more.’

He then related the rest of the gossip of the city. Now and again he’d turn to look back down the garden to where his retinue rested in the shade of fruit trees, filling their stomachs, quenching their thirst and teasing the maids.

‘Why did you tell me to be careful of Ay?’

‘Because, Mahu, Prince Tutankhamun gets older by the day. Soon he will be of age to marry, be crowned Pharaoh. He will no longer need a guardian or a protector.’

I leaned back to catch the shade of the alcove we were sitting in.

‘He will still need a friend, Sobeck.’

‘Ah yes, but our lord Ay will also decide that. Is the Lady Ankhesenamun well?’

‘Flirtatious as ever.’

‘Do you see the letters she sends her grandfather?’

‘Yes, and his replies. My scribes are very good at removing sealing wax and reimposing it so no one can notice. She gives him the chatter of this city. He provides her with the gossip of Thebes. I know, and they know that I know. Yet,’ I grinned, ‘they are also communicating in a secret code, one I can’t break. I suspect the messages she sends are all about the Prince and whatever mischief Ay might be stirring up in this dying city.’

‘Is it dying?’ Sobeck asked. ‘The streets seemed to be lively with trade. The quaysides are busy.’

‘For a while,’ I replied. ‘But when the Prince leaves, the heart of this city will stop beating. Within five years it will be a ruin.’

‘I have heard all about the removal of the coffins.’ Sobeck tapped the nail of his thumb against his teeth. ‘Ay tried to keep it a secret, but such a funeral flotilla cannot be missed. Anyway,’ he grinned, ‘did you discover anything of interest?’

I told him about the secret chamber, the traps it contained and the mysterious corpse concealed in its splendid coffins.

‘And I have brought you some help.’ Sobeck stood up. ‘I always read your letters intently.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t think I came just to see your ugly face?’ He winked at me. ‘I have brought you a gift. The embalmer, the one they call the Stammerer.’