The Season of the Hyaena

Chapter 19

In the first week of the month of Thoth — the eighth year of Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands, Mighty Bull, Most Fitting of Forms, Horus in the South, Horemheb and Rameses visited me. I truly thought I would never see this precious pair again. Yet they came swaggering through the main gates, splendid in their robes, all agleam with their medallions, collars, brooches and rings. Outside the gate their staff officers unhitched their chariots, chattering and laughing as they led them off into the green coolness of a palm grove. Horemheb looked a little plumper, a roll of fat beneath his black button eyes, slightly jowly, though his body was still hard and muscular. Rameses was more wrinkled but lean as ever, eyes full of malice, that smirk on his thin lips; he still reminded me of a vicious greyhound. They were pleasant enough, clasping my hands, ordering a servant forward with gifts, joking with Pentju and Djarka. Rameses mischievously asked whether Sobeck, my ‘constant visitor’, was present.

I just smiled.

‘You haven’t come about my health,’ I suggested. ‘So you have come to plot.’

They did not disagree. We met behind closed doors in the Blue Lotus Pavilion. After a few pleasantries Rameses threw down his whisk. I was highly amused by it. The whisk was sky blue, with a golden lotus on the handle; more suitable for a lady of the court rather than a high-ranking officer of the Imperial Staff.

‘Are you enjoying retirement, Mahu?’ he sneered.

‘You mean my exile?’

‘Your exile.’ Rameses smirked. ‘You must miss the heavy perfume of the court.’

‘I miss neither that nor your stench.’

‘Mahu, Mahu, you don’t miss your friends?’

‘I miss the smiles of Pharaoh. May he live a million years and enjoy countless jubilees.’

Rameses and Horemheb hastily agreed.

‘The Divine One also misses you.’

‘How do you know that? I understand very few people are allowed to see him.’

‘We do meet him at the Royal Circle,’ Horemheb intervened.

‘And how do you find him?’

‘Quiet, serene.’ Horemheb shrugged. ‘The Lord Ay is his mouthpiece.’ I sensed the hidden tension, a shift in Horemheb’s eyes. Rameses was studying me curiously, head slightly to one side, puckering his lower lip between finger and thumb.

‘I understand,’ I broke the silence, ‘that you, General Rameses, have been very busy in your studies about the history of the Apiru.’

‘You know why.’ Rameses picked up the flywhisk. ‘I’m sure your friend Sobeck has told you everything, so let’s be blunt, Mahu.’

‘My lord Rameses, that would be a change.’

‘Akenhaten may still be alive. Meryre is definitely hiding in Canaan with the other heretics, stirring up trouble.’

‘But he’s not with Akenhaten?’ I asked.

‘You mean the madman.’

‘We all supported him, General Horemheb.’

‘For a while, but that’s not why we are here.’ Horemheb cleared his throat. ‘My lord Mahu, would you like to return to power?’

‘Why?’ I replied. ‘To be your spy?’

‘Oh come, come,’ Rameses protested.

‘Oh come, come, General Rameses. Why else are you visiting me? It’s certainly not because of my lovely eyes and generous character.’

‘We would like to see you appointed as Overseer of the House of Envoys,’ Horemheb murmured. ‘To lead a diplomatic mission to the Hittites. You are sly enough to assess their power, cunning enough to judge if they are a real danger to us.’

‘And report back to you, as well as Lord Ay?’

‘Of course,’ Rameses agreed.

‘You want me to go to Canaan to spy, but you are hoping that Akenhaten will show himself to me; for some strange reason he had a special liking to me. And if he does, you’ll kill him.’

Rameses smiled.

‘Do you think,’ I continued, ‘Lord Ay would embrace me and give me the rings of office? He’d realise you wanted me back as your spy.’

‘You’re our friend.’

‘Since when?’

Horemheb laughed. ‘Very good, my lord Mahu. Huy and Maya would welcome you back.’

‘For what? To keep a watch on Lord Ay?’

‘Let’s cut to the marrow of the bone.’ Horemheb shifted forward. ‘The Divine One himself wishes your return.’ He smiled at my surprise. ‘Our Pharaoh is almost a young man, of seventeen summers. I find him strange. I don’t think his health is good, in either body or soul. You know that, Lord Mahu. You lived with him when he was a child. He is given to outbursts. In the last few months he has increasingly demanded in a pained voice, “Where is Uncle Mahu?”’

‘Why now?’ I asked.

‘Why not?’ Rameses retorted. ‘Perhaps he has done it before, though in private. He wants you and Pentju to return. Oh, by the way, how is the toper?’

‘As always, General, a better companion than you. So,’ I drew myself up, ‘the Divine One wishes me to return. A wish supported by new-found friends. Well, well!’ I leaned back. ‘My two lions, you have surprised me! Do you really need me, Horemheb? Don’t forget you’re married to Mutnedjmet, sister of Nefertiti!’

‘My wife is as different from her,’ Horemheb snapped, ‘as gold is from sand. She has nothing in common with her father, that mongoose of a man, or her scorpion sister. She does not like her father.’ He shrugged. ‘That was the beginning of our friendship.’

Horemheb plucked at the tassels of his robe.

‘I want you back, Mahu. I want you in charge of the House of Envoys; I want to find out what is happening in Canaan. Lord Ay spies on me and I on him. Sobeck must have told you about the presents and the money he has sent to the Mitanni. At first, I thought this was just policy, to keep the Hittites contained, but there’s more. He has been searching for the Lady Tahana.’

My heart skipped a beat.

‘She was principal lady-in-waiting to Khiya, Tutankhamun’s mother. She and her husband mysteriously left the City of the Aten and returned to the Mitanni court around the same time the plague struck.’

‘Why should he be searching for her?’ I asked.

‘We don’t know. Earlier this year, during the last month of the Season of the Planting, General Nakhtimin and a squadron of troops sailed up the Nile for a meeting with a Mitanni envoy. We don’t know why they met or what was agreed. They returned by night to Thebes.’ He paused. ‘According to my spies, Nakhtimin brought back a man, his face covered by a jackal face-mask. I also heard reports of the same man being imprisoned in the old House of Residence, where we all trained as Children of the Kap.’

I couldn’t hide my consternation. ‘Was it Akenhaten?’

‘No.’ Horemheb shook his head. ‘The individual was young, we could tell by his belly and legs. I have tried everything,’ Horemheb confessed, ‘to discover what happened. Nakhtimin’s troops closely guarded that part of the palace. In recent months they have withdrawn, which means the young man has either gone or died. Now,’ Horemheb scratched his head, ‘I’m afraid, Mahu. What is Ay plotting? Will something happen to Tutankhamun, and would Ay claim the throne? So,’ he smiled, ‘if the Divine One and the Royal Circle ask you to return, will you agree?’

‘I will think on it.’

‘And if you return, will you be our ally, not our spy?’

‘I will think on it.’ I made to rise.

‘You don’t seem worried about the Divine One.’ Horemheb clasped my wrist. ‘He was your charge.’

I broke from his grip. ‘That was in the past, General. I cannot be held responsible for what I have no power over.’

I recalled Tutankhamun’s gentle, almond-shaped eyes, his serene face.

‘You do care, don’t you?’ Horemheb asked.

He felt amongst his robes, drew out a leather pouch and shook out the contents: an exquisite strip of gold depicting Pharaoh wearing the war crown of Egypt, smiting the head of an enemy in the presence of the War God Montu, behind him the Goddess Nepthys.

‘Lord Ay hired a goldsmith to fashion this for him; an apprentice in the shop made a fair copy.’

I examined the gold strip carefully. On closer inspection it was cruder than any original. The Pharaoh was Tutankhamun, no more than a boy, but from the hieroglyphs on the band of gold, I realised that Ay was the God Montu and Ankhesenamun the Goddess Nepthys.

‘Ay made that for his own personal use.’ Horemheb took it from me. ‘He is becoming arrogant. He sees himself as a God, the master of the Pharaoh.’

Horemheb was not lying. No Egyptian would ever dream of fashioning such a scene. Pharaoh paid service to no one but the Gods; he was their equal, the living incarnation of their will.

‘Now we know there is something wrong with Tutankhamun.’ Rameses got to his feet. ‘Can you imagine, Mahu, Akenhaten bowing to anyone? Is Ay abusing his position? Are there secret ceremonies at the court where Ay and his granddaughter dress up as gods and make Pharaoh bow before them? Now, you think!’

For the rest of that day, I sat in the pavilion, my mind a whirl. Servants brought me food and drink. Why was Ay hunting for some young man amongst the Mitanni? What was he planning? Darkness fell. The evening breeze was refreshing, and through the half-open door I could see the servants. Djarka came over. Did I want to join him and his family for supper? I declined, and he wandered off. A short while later Pentju arrived, followed by his servants carrying a jug of wine and two goblets.

‘I heard about the visit of the mighty warriors.’ Pentju sat down on the cushions. ‘Did they ask after me? I suppose they didn’t.’

‘You need a bath,’ I retorted. ‘And a shave.’

‘What I need, Mahu, is a goblet of wine and a young maid. I am going to make a nuisance of myself until you tell me what those two cruel bastards came here for.’

I told Pentju how they wished me to return to court. I mentioned the House of Envoys and, only the Gods know the reason, I told him about Ay, his dealings with the Mitanni and that strange prisoner Nakhtimin had brought back from the Delta. Pentju sat, all colour draining from his face, mouth open, eyes staring, as if he’d been visited by some horror in the night. Perhaps I’d drunk too much myself, for I pressed on with the story. The goblet slipped from Pentju’s hand and he began to shake like a man in a fit. I called his name, but he stared as if he couldn’t see any more. A strange sound bubbled at the back of his throat. The shock sobered me up. I left the pavilion, shouting for help. When I returned, Pentju was convulsing on the floor, his muscles rigid. He had vomited, and for a moment I thought he was choking. A leech arrived and made sure that Pentju’s throat was clear, then placed a leather wedge between his teeth and shouted for blankets.

I sent a messenger to Sobeck to ask him to hire the best physicians of the mouth, heart, stomach and anus. They diagnosed some fit brought on by a fever of the mind. In truth, like all doctors they were useless. They grabbed my silver and informed me that Pentju should have bed rest and no wine. I could have reached the same conclusion, so I sent them packing through the gate. When Sobeck learned what had happened he just shook his head, whistled under his breath and cursed his spies for failing him. He confessed he knew nothing about what Horemheb and Rameses had told me. At the moment there was little I could do with such information. I was too busy nursing Pentju, as well as curious to discover why my words had provoked such a powerful reaction. Some of the physicians believed Pentju’s ailments were the work of a gesnu — an evil being or demon. I heartily agreed. It was a fitting description for Ay and his Akhmin gang.

The weeks passed. Pentju, deprived of his wine, grew stronger. I teased him: he was a Child of the Kap, he had been trained as a soldier, so despite his fat, he should be as strong as an ox. He was physician enough to diagnose his own condition. He likened it to the shock of a mother who has received the sudden news that her beloved son has died in battle. He cursed all physicians.

‘If you want me to stay healthy,’ he bawled at me, ‘keep those bastards away.’

I was mystified by his comparison of himself to a mother losing her favourite son; I questioned him. One evening Pentju decided to confess, to escape the Tchat, the guilt which soured his spirit. We’d finished a meal: strips of roast antelope, tenderised and spiced. He abruptly pushed his food away and started to cry. For a while I let him sob, then he said I must be his chapel priest.

‘You do remember,’ he began, ‘the scurrilous stories that Tutankhamun was my son, not Akenhaten’s?’

‘Yes, but you assured me he was the Pharaoh’s true heir.’

‘I spoke with a true voice: he was and is.’ Pentju sighed. ‘Khiya gave birth to him.’

‘You told me that.’

‘I truly loved her, Mahu, even though I was married. I purged her beautiful body of the poisons Nefertiti kept giving her.’ He paused, sipping at the watered wine. ‘You know how it was in the City of the Aten. Nefertiti ruled like Queen Bee of the hive; her sting was nasty. I had managed to persuade Akenhaten to give Khiya her own house. We were in the city for three years before Akenhaten, tired of Nefertiti’s arrogance, began to show more than a passing interest in his second wife, the little Mitanni princess. Well.’ Pentju blinked. ‘I committed treason. I had intercourse with the Lady Khiya. She became pregnant, she was terrified, so was I. How could we explain it away? She pretended to be ill and withdrew to her own chambers. Only I, the Lady Tahana and her husband knew the truth. The child, a boy, came out of the egg prematurely, sometime between the sixth and seventh month. Nevertheless, he was strong. We hired a wet nurse whom we could trust.’ He paused. ‘Are you surprised?’

‘Yes and no,’ I confessed.

‘It was well known that Khiya and the Lady Tahana were very close. We were terrified. I knew what had happened to Sobeck when he had seduced a concubine, a Royal Ornament, of Amenhotep the Magnificent. He was lucky to be branded and sent to a prison oasis; the concubine was put into a cage and torn to pieces by a wild animal.’ Pentju wiped the spittle from the corner of his mouth. ‘Khiya was terrified for the child and ourselves. She feared Akenhaten’s anger and Nefertiti’s murderous rages even more. She made special sacrifices to Hathor the Golden One and any other God or Goddess she could think of. In the end her prayer was answered. The Lady Tahana concocted a plan: she would adopt the child as her own and return to the land of the Mitanni. They were not Egyptian subjects; they would not need Akenhaten’s permission. She and her husband left when the child was three months old. Khiya’s first pregnancy remained a secret. You know how it was in the City of the Aten. Akenhaten and Nefertiti were bound up with their own affairs. On three occasions whilst Khiya was pregnant, Akenhaten visited her. On the first, her monthly courses had just stopped; that was no problem. On the other two, she feigned sickness, a fever.’ Pentju pulled a face. ‘Being a physician, I could help with the symptoms.’

‘And after the Mitanni took the child away?’

‘Khiya and I were relieved. We took a vow it would never happen again. Her first pregnancy made her even more fertile, so when Akenhaten lay with her she conceived again. I often wondered about the first child, but it was too dangerous to enquire.’

‘So how did Ay find out?’

‘That serpent may have heard something, from a servant, a guide; someone must have talked. It would have been easy for Ay to go through the archives and find out why the Lady Tahana had left so abruptly with a child. At first he was probably too busy because of other crises, but Ay’s a mongoose. He would not rest until he knew the truth. He must have bribed the Mitanni to hand the young man over.’

‘How old must he be?’

‘Somewhere between his eighteenth and nineteenth year. The Mitanni, desperate for Egyptian money and supplies, must have been persuaded. Only the Gods know what story Ay peddled. Perhaps he insinuated that this mysterious individual was his own illegitimate child.’

‘And why would Ay want him?’

‘You know as well as I do, Mahu: the blood feud. Khiya produced an illegitimate child but also gave Pharaoh a living male heir. Nefertiti failed to do that. Worse, the birth of that male heir led to the fatal rift between Akenhaten and Nefertiti. Ay would want vengeance. Khiya had destroyed his beloved daughter; she was the cause of that great Queen’s downfall.’

I sat reflecting on what I’d learned.

‘You don’t have to tell me, Mahu.’ Pentju broke into my reverie. ‘Ay has killed him. Oh, he will give some excuse to the Mitanni about a fever, an illness. Ay knows poison as well as you and I.’ Pentju’s voice broke, and he put his face into his hands. ‘He has killed my son,’ he sobbed. ‘He has murdered the Beloved.’

As Pentju slowly recovered, I could only wonder what to do until the Gods, or the demons, intervened.

During the last few days of the final month of the year, we were summoned to the palace. A royal messenger, carrying his silver wand of office, arrived at our mansion accompanied by six armed Nesu, the bodyguard of Pharaoh. The messenger carried a scroll sealed with the imperial cartouche; he kissed it and broke the seal. The invitation was short and blunt: the Lords Mahu and Pentju were to come before the Tau-Retui, Pharaoh and his Royal Circle, on the sixteenth day of the first month in the season of the sowing. So we did, and it was good to be back in the heart of Thebes, to leave the quayside and move through the suburbs of the poor, past their shabby cottages, avoiding the infected pools and the heaps of reeking rubbish. After the loneliness of exile, even the legions of red-eyed beggars seemed welcoming.

The growing wealth of Thebes had brought in peasants, traders and labourers from outlying villages. They’d built their ramshackle houses on every plot of land. Some were successful, most were not and so drowned their sorrows in cups of cheap brandy. Everyone, however, was busy. Women in soiled smocks squatted at dark doorways, grinding their precious portions of corn between pestle and stone. Along the street their children hunted and fought over the dung of livestock, which they would dry to use as fuel and so turn the air foul with its acrid smell. Further up we passed the traders’ stalls, displaying jewellery from Canaan, leatherwork from Libya, oil and embroideries from Babylon. Confectioners were busy driving away the flies, whilst offering preserved dates, syrups, and pastries made of honey and spices. Nearby, their apprentices pounded almonds and nuts in a mortar to make delicious brews. Butchers, their stall flowing with blood, hacked at the quarters of geese and oxen, as little boys and girls, naked as they were born, ran around with flywhisks to drive off the insects. Shoemakers offered everything from delicate slippers to marching boots. Customers with pouches of electrum, gold and silver queued in front of the goldsmiths.

After the silence of my mansion, I revelled in the noise and changing colours of the sea of people milling about. The shouts and screams, the conflicting aromas of fresh blood, cooking meats and drying leather mingling with those of burnt honey, spices and perfumes. Songwriters, storytellers, musicians and dancers of various nationalities touted for custom. Prostitutes plied their trade at the mouth of alleyways, pulling their clients towards them, using the hard brick wall as a mattress or kneeling down before them without a care in the world. Further along, near the gateway to the barracks, women screamed and rolled in the dust as the military scribes from the House of War enrolled their menfolk in the army. I kept drinking in the sights, but Pentju walked slumped, head down like a man sentenced to the stake. The Nubian mercenaries in their leopard kilts, silver chains and nodding white plumes kept us clear of the crowds, their great oval shields displaying the ram’s head of Amun creating a wall around us.

Eventually we reached the Avenue of the Golden Falcon, leading down to the Malkata Palace, its white and red stone walls refurbished and gleaming like a beacon. The huge copper-plated gates opened into finely laid-out gardens. I wanted to stop and inspect some of the new plants, but the captain of our escort shook his head and so we passed on. They left us in an antechamber, its walls decorated with silver antelopes leaping against a light green background above fields of gold. On either side of them ran an ochre frieze embellished with silver palms. I tried to interest Pentju in the painting, but he sat gazing at the floor. I had taken his reluctant oath that he would do nothing stupid or dangerous. A chamberlain served us iced fruit drinks, and I insisted that he tested them first. He was surprised and shocked, but agreed.

A short while later he returned and we were taken into the Dolphin Room, the great council chamber where the Royal Circle would meet. On its cobalt-blue walls silver dolphins leaped above golden waves. Its floor of polished stone reflected the mosaic in the ceiling of more dolphins and other beasts of the sea. At the far end of the chamber, on a raised hooded dais, stood three gold-plated thrones: their backs and arms were decorated with gold leaf, their legs studded with gems; the carved feet rested on polished black footstools inlaid with ebony and silver. The smaller thrones lacked the majesty of the imperial one, but their message was clear enough.

‘A throne fit for a Pharaoh,’ Pentju whispered. ‘But still, one for Ay and one for Ankhesenamun.’ The thrones were faced by a semi-circle of silver-topped tables and cushioned seats, where members of the Royal Circle would squat. I counted ten in all. Three similar tables stood in the centre for the scribes with their writing palettes, reed pens, papyrus rolls and pots of red and black ink.

We had hardly arrived when trumpets blew, cymbals clashed and the great double doors to the council chamber were flung open. Two stole priests entered, swinging pots of incense, flanked by imperial fan-bearers. These took up their positions as the Royal Bodyguard marched in, victorious warriors who displayed the insignia for taking an enemy’s head in battle. The bodyguard formed an avenue for more officials. The council chamber began to fill. More cymbals clashed, trumpets blew, and a herald entered and cried out Pharaoh’s names.

‘He of the Two Lands, the Dynamic of Laws, the Golden Falcon who wears the regalia. He who pleases the Gods, King of Upper and Lower Egypt. The Lordly Manifestation of Ra. The Living Image of Amun …’

We prostrated ourselves, nosing the ground. I stole a glance at Tutankhamun as he entered, garbed in his state costume, his head covered by a pure white head-dress and bound by the golden Uraeus. He wore drawers of pleated linen, ornamented at the back by a jackal’s tail and at the front by an overlapping stiffened apron of encrusted gold and enamel. Over all this hung a long sleeveless robe of snow-white linen, open at the throat to reveal a brilliant pectoral displaying Nekhbet, the Vulture Goddess; a dazzling piece of craftsmanship of precious stones. On his feet were silver-chased peak sandals. Tutankhamun walked slowly, rather ungainly, resting on a walking stick, the head of which was carved in the shape of a panther. He had that same innocent, boyish look, almost feminine: pouched cheeks, slightly parted lips, his almond eyes ringed with black kohl. He was smiling, looking over his shoulder at his Queen Ankhesenamun, who was a stunning vision of voluptuous beauty. Oh, she had changed! A thick, richly braided wig framed her sensuous face, her lustrous dark eyes were emphasised by green kohl, her dusted skin made more eye-catching by glittering jewellery at her throat, wrists, fingers and ankles. She wore a sleeveless glittering robe fashioned in layers and bound by a brilliant red sash, and she moved daintily on thick-soled sandals. She carried a sky-blue fan, edged with silver, and used this to hide her face but not her eyes.

Ay followed behind, head shaven, his falcon-like face gleaming with oil. He wore all the regalia of high office and clutched a beautiful pair of red gloves, a sign of Pharaoh’s personal favour. The other lords followed: Nakhtimin, Huy, Maya, Horemheb, Rameses, Anen, Chief Priest of Amun; all the great masters of Egypt. Their costly robes, gold-edged walking sticks, gorgeous fans and oiled, perfumed faces exuded power and wealth. Maya looked more like a woman than ever, with his thick glossy black wig, painted face and high-heeled shoes. As he turned his head I glimpsed his pearl earrings, and I wondered again about this brilliant man who so desperately wanted to be a woman. The relationship between him and Sobeck had cooled since the latter’s marriage. Rumour had it that Maya now enjoyed a harem of beautiful young men.

Tutankhamun sat down on his throne whilst a stole priest chanted the hymn.

Afterwards, the chamber was cleared of soldiers and officials. Ay and Ankhesenamun took their seats, and the rest followed, whilst the scribes squatted in the middle. Pentju and I remained kneeling until Ay imperiously indicated that we should take our seats at the remaining two tables. Ay had prepared the tablet of business; Pentju and I were at the top of the list.

‘Due to the great favour of Pharaoh,’ Ay proclaimed, ‘the Divine One has decided to reveal his face to them and smile at them. Accordingly …’

In a word, Pentju was appointed Royal Physician and I was to become Overseer of the House of Envoys, with responsibility for foreign affairs. All the time I watched Tutankhamun staring beatifically at me. Now and again in his excitement he would turn to Ankhesenamun. She slouched on her throne, one pretty sandalled foot tapping ever so imperiously. I would wink at Tutankhamun or slightly raise my hand. Beside me, Pentju glowered as Ay, the Great Mongoose as we now called him, turned to the other business. Most of it was mundane, the greater part being the situation in Canaan. Its petty princelings still squabbled; the real danger were the Hittites, who were now a major threat to Egypt’s allies in the region, the Babylonians and the Mitanni. Horemheb and Rameses sang the same old hymn, the need for military intervention. Ay was not so eager to contradict them, the question being when and how. The lions of the desert seemed satisfied with this and eventually the meeting ended.

Pentju and I were brought before the Royal Throne. Ankhesenamun indulged in her usual flirtations, leaning forward allowing her gold robe to hang loose, exposing her breasts, the nipples of which were painted silver. She had that questioning, innocent look as if wondering where we had been all this time; she was most effusive, caressing my cheek or patting Pentju’s balding head. Her touch was cool, her perfume the most expensive Egypt could provide, the juice of the blue lotus. She was most solicitous, anxious about our well-being. We both could tell from her eyes that the royal bitch was laughing at us. Tutankhamun, however, was delightful, so pleased to see us he almost forgot court protocol and couldn’t sit still with excitement. He gave each of us a gold collar, and leaned closer so that he could fasten mine round my neck, then he brushed my cheeks with his lips and called me Uncle. Ankhesenamun, meanwhile, sniggered behind her hand.

Ay coughed loudly to remind Tutankhamun of court etiquette. The young Pharaoh recalled himself and tried to keep his face straight, but the effort was useless. He returned to calling me Uncle, saying how much he had missed both me and Pentju, how we must come fishing and fowling with him or, perhaps, take his war chariot out into the eastern desert. He seemed healthy enough, bright-eyed and plump-cheeked, though his body was manifesting some of his father’s characteristics: a slightly pointed chest, broad hips, long fingers and toes, legs, thighs and arms rather thin. He was also experiencing some discomfort when he moved.

Once the audience finished, some of the Royal Circle approached to congratulate us: the usual smiles and handshakes, shoulders being clasped, promises made, invitations issued. They lied to me and I lied to them, but that was the nature of the court. I recalled the old proverb: ‘Put not your trust in Pharaoh, nor your confidence in the war chariots of Egypt.’ I only hoped Pentju would not provoke a confrontation with the Lord Ay.

Later that day there was a great feast in the Silver Hawk Chamber at the other side of the palace. Only members of the Royal Circle were invited. Long tables covered with shimmering Babylonian muslin were placed before each guest, bearing jewel-encrusted goblets and platters of pure silver. Around the room stood great terracotta jars of wine for servants to keep the goblets ever brimmed, whilst others served shellfish sprinkled with spices, fried lotus in a special sauce, and a range of baked meats: antelope, hare, partridge, calf and wild ass. Pyramids of fruits were set before us: grapes, melons, lemons, figs and pomegranates. In the centre of the chamber a small orchestra with harps, drums and other instruments played soft music under the watchful eye of the eunuch who marked time with a reed. A place had been set for Pharaoh and his wife, who were expected to appear later in the proceedings, though they never arrived.

Whilst the rest got drunk, I watched Ay, who seemed distracted as a stream of servants came and went with messages. Eventually agitated, he got up from his table and left. A short while later one of his servants came and whispered to Pentju and me that we should withdraw. He led us hastily along beautiful galleries and passageways, across fragrant gardens and courtyards where fountains supplied their own music. At last we reached the heart of the palace, the Royal Apartments. Ay was waiting for us in the antechamber. Nakhtimin and some of his senior staff were also present. From the chamber beyond I could hear Ankhesenamun weeping loudly.

‘You’ve been given the reason for your return,’ Ay declared. ‘In truth there were two reasons; now you will see the second.’

He snapped his fingers, the great double doors swung open and we followed Ay into a long decorated chamber, poorly lit by oil lamps, with a great open window at the far end. In the centre of the room, dressed only in a loincloth, squatted Tutankhamun, a wooden lion in one hand, a toy antelope in the other. He placed these on the floor, pretending the lion was chasing the antelope. I brushed by Ay and, followed by Pentju, hurried across.

‘My lord.’ I squatted down. ‘What is the matter?’ I sniffed and glanced down: the loincloth was soiled; Tutankhamun had wet himself. ‘My lord,’ I repeated, ‘are you well?’

Tutankhamun lifted the wooden toys and smacked them together. Pentju cursed quietly. Tutankhamun seemed totally unaware of our presence.

‘Gaga.’ He lifted the wooden lion and sucked on it as a baby in a cot would. Pentju began whispering the words of a prayer. I stared in disbelief: the Pharaoh of Egypt, the Lord of Two Lands was not insane, but a helpless baby. I tried to touch him but he flinched, absorbed by the toys in his hands. Footsteps echoed behind me.

‘How long?’ I asked.

‘The attacks are not frequent,’ Ay replied, ‘but when they occur they are intense. High excitement or confrontation seems to cause them. Sometimes he is like this, other times argumentative and very aggressive.’

We waited for an hour before Tutankhamun began to relax and grow heavy-eyed. We let him sleep on the floor, cushions and blankets being brought to make him as comfortable as possible. Ay agreed to meet us in the antechamber. He wanted Nakhtimin to stay but Pentju insisted he leave. I had never seen the physician so cold and so implacable.

I shall never forget that night. The window behind Ay opened on to darkness as deep as that of the Underworld. Not one star, not one blossom of the night could be seen; there was no sound, as if the calls of the birds, the night prowlers and the creatures of the Nile had been silenced. Only three men, seated in a chamber, on the verge of the confrontation both Pentju and I had been praying for.

‘My son?’ Pentju began.

‘The Divine One …’ Ay intervened.

‘He must wait,’ Pentju rasped. ‘My son, the child of the Lady Khiya, you bribed the Mitanni to hand him over.’

‘I don’t …’ flustered Ay.

‘You do,’ Pentju cut in. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Why did you bring him here?’

‘I wanted to discover who he really was,’ Ay retorted.

‘You knew who he was.’

‘He looked so much like his half-brother, the Lord Pharaoh.’ Ay’s voice was kindly, but the look in his eyes was chilling. I realised what he’d intended.

‘Did you?’ I gasped. ‘Yes, you did, didn’t you? You seriously considered replacing one for the other, that’s why you brought him here. They would look so alike! Very few people see Tutankhamun, and only then from afar.’

Ay stared coolly back.

‘You said he looked?’ Pentju kept his voice steady. ‘So he is dead?’

‘He was sturdy,’ Ay replied. ‘A good man, Pentju, intelligent and charming. He died of a fever-’

Pentju lunged forward; I pulled him back.

‘He died of a fever.’ Ay remained calm. ‘You, however, think I murdered him, that I brought him here to be killed, true?’ He played with the ring on his finger. ‘I am a hyaena,’ he confessed. ‘I kill because I have to, because I don’t want to be killed myself.’

‘You hated Khiya,’ Pentju yelled.

Ay shook his head. ‘I did not hate her.’

‘She displaced your daughter.’

‘Nefertiti was a fool,’ Ay snarled. ‘She was arrogant, she really believed she was Pharaoh’s equal. We are responsible for our children, but not for their mistakes. As for you, Pentju, I shall never reveal what I really intended with your son, but I am innocent of his blood. I will take a solemn oath.’

Pentju sneered in reply.

‘I can produce a physician from the House of Life who will corroborate my story. If I had murdered the boy, his corpse would have been consigned to the crocodile pool, I would have denied meeting him.’

‘You have the corpse?’ Pentju exclaimed.

‘Your son’s body was hastily embalmed in the wabet, the Pure Place in the Temple of Anubis, and buried according to the rites in the Valley of the Kings.’

‘Did he suffer?’ Pentju asked. ‘Did he talk or ask about me?’

‘He was well treated,’ Ay whispered. ‘I would have taken Nakhtimin’s head if he hadn’t been. True, his face was hidden by a mask, but that was for his own safety. He was placed in the House of Residence and shown every courtesy.’ Ay sighed. ‘He truly believed he was the son of a Mitanni nobleman, that his parents had died when he was a boy. He was training,’ Ay paused, ‘strange, he was training to be a soldier, but he confessed he had a deep interest in medicine.’

‘What did you tell the Mitanni?’ I asked.

‘Quite simple. I told them he might be my son,’ Ay smiled, ‘and that, either way, he would receive good training in our barracks and the House of Life.’

Pentju, head bowed, was sobbing quietly.

‘I made a mistake,’ Ay confessed. ‘The young man was used to the clean air of the highlands of Canaan. The Nile has its infections and often claims its victims, you know that, Pentju. He fell suddenly ill and slipped into a fever. No one could save him. So, Pentju, I have your son’s blood on my hands, I recognise that, as I do that you are my enemy. I realise that if the opportunity ever presents itself, you will kill me.’

‘I’ve always been your enemy,’ Pentju answered. He raised his tearful face. ‘Lord Ay, one day, if I can, I shall kill you.’

Ay blinked and looked away. He was a mongoose of a man, but I was convinced he was not lying, nor was he alarmed by Pentju’s threats.

‘I am not frightened,’ Ay replied, his face now only a few inches from Pentju’s. ‘The only difference between you, Pentju, and the rest is that you have been honest.’

‘So why not kill us?’ I asked. ‘Why not now?’

Ay leaned back. ‘For the same reason I didn’t years ago. You have powerful friends. Meryre, Tutu and the rest deserved their fate, but Horemheb and the others would baulk at murder, at the illegal execution of two old comrades, former Children of the Kap.’

‘Secondly?’ I insisted. ‘There is a second reason?’

‘The Divine One himself, when in his right mind, would have objected, and thirdly,’ Ay coolly added, ‘I need you to protect him, to see if you can do something to bring his mind out of the darkness.’

‘Where is my son?’ Pentju demanded.

‘He is in a cave, isn’t he?’ I asked. ‘One of those secret ones you’ve quarried in the Valley of the Kings?’

‘To house the dead from the City of the Aten,’ Ay agreed, ‘as well as for eventualities such as this. You will be taken there, I assure you.’

Pentju put his face in his hands.

‘And now,’ Ay placed his hands together, ‘what shall we do with our Pharaoh, who has the body of a young man and, sometimes, the mind of a babbling infant? You must help him, Mahu, as much as possible.’

‘Why?’

‘To put it bluntly, my granddaughter, Ankhesenamun, must conceive a son by him before it is too late.’

‘Is he capable of that?’

‘Oh yes.’ Ay put a finger round his lips. ‘My granddaughter can conceive.’

‘Or is she your daughter?’ Pentju taunted.

‘My granddaughter,’ Ay replied evenly.

‘And if Tutankhamun doesn’t beget an heir?’ I asked. ‘If he dies childless, where will the Kingdom of the Two Lands go?’

I shall never forget Ay’s reply, in that chamber on that darkest night, for it brought to an end a period of my life. At first he didn’t reply, but just sat, head bowed.

‘So?’ I repeated the question. ‘To whom would Egypt go?’

‘Why, Mahu, Baboon of the South, Egypt will go to the strongest.’