The Season of the Hyaena

Chapter 2

For a while the council chamber echoed with cries and shouts. I could only gape at Ay. Horemheb and Rameses sat shocked. Meryre, however, sprang to his feet, screaming at Ay.

‘Why didn’t you tell us immediately? Why now?’ Even then I thought he was overacting!

Ay’s gaze shifted to me, a faint smile on his lips. The wily mongoose! He’d kept this information back to shock us but only after he had reminded us that in the eyes of many we were reviled as traitors, the cause of Egypt’s downfall, cursed by both factions, those who hated Akenhaten as well as those who supported him. The only reason we hadn’t lost our heads or been hung from the Wall of Death was that we still held power, the reins of the chariots firmly gripped in our hands. Whatever happened, we were damned and damned again. If Akenhaten had returned, he’d show little mercy to those he’d once considered his friends, who had betrayed his Great Vision.

‘But he’s dead! He’s dead!’ Rameses sprang to his feet, his face contorted with fury, his screams drowning out the rest of the cries and shouts. ‘Akenhaten is dead! He has to be dead!’

‘Is he?’ Meryre yelled back. ‘Where’s his corpse? Where?’

The question stilled the clamour. Meryre had raised the spectre of all our nightmares. Ay held up his hand for silence.

‘Let us,’ he announced, ‘tell you what we know. An impostor, yes,’ he continued stilling the clamour, ‘an impostor has emerged out of the deserts of Sinai claiming to be the Pharaoh Akenhaten, proclaiming himself “Beautiful as the Forms of Ra, the Unique One of Ra”. He is accompanied by a woman who claims to be Nefertiti. They hold the Imperial Cartouche and are issuing proclamations under those seals. They fly the standards and pennants of the Aten. They first appeared in the Delta supported by Hittite mercenaries.’

‘Mercenaries?’ Horemheb jibed. ‘You mean troops loaned to them by the Hittite king?’

‘They have taken Avaris in the Delta,’ Ay said baldly.

Now he had our attention. A horrified silence. If this pretender was at Avaris then he could sail down the Nile, his flanks protected by troops, and seize the great cities of Egypt.

‘We have troops there,’ Rameses murmured.

‘The pretenders have been accepted by General Ipumer and the Ptah regiment,’ Ay countered. ‘The troops were easily suborned by gifts of gold. Elements of the Hekhet and Basta regiments have also gone over to them. According to reports they have reached the Red Mountains.’

‘Why didn’t we know before?’ Huy demanded.

‘They moved quickly,’ Ay explained. ‘They freed the slaves at the Roiau quarry and impaled the royal overseer there; his son escaped to Memphis, that’s how we know.’

I gazed across at a wall painting depicting Tuthmosis IV in battle against vile Asiatics; Pharaoh, triumphant, driving his blue and gold chariot pulled by dark, blood-red horses over the bodies of the slain against a glorious background of ivory yellow. At the bottom of the picture the artist had depicted one of the enemy caught in a thicket. The man’s eyes seemed to stare at me, that horrified surprise of a human being trapped by death. We were caught in a thicket, I reflected. Was this how it would end?

‘We must treat with them.’ The grizzled General Rahmose, shaking with fever, raised his hand, the first time that afternoon he’d demanded to speak. He sat with Tutu and Meryre and the rest of the Atenists. I wondered idly if they had anything to do with this present mischief; just something about the way they sat …

‘Treat with them!’ Horemheb shouted. ‘And what do we offer them? The Kingdom of Lower Egypt? Tribute? Why,’ he continued, ‘has this usurper been accepted so quickly? Akenhaten’s name is reviled.’

‘Not in every city,’ Rahmose retorted. ‘You call him an impostor, a usurper, but what if he is the rightful Pharaoh, the true son of Amenhotep III?’ Rahmose let his words hang in the air. He was right. Despised or not, Akenhaten had been rightfully blessed with the double crown of Egypt.

‘Mahu.’ Ay turned to me.

‘General Rahmose speaks the truth.’ I chose my words carefully. ‘Egypt is now dividing, splitting into factions. Some support the Aten, others Amun-Ra, whilst there are cities and provinces only too eager to shake off the suzerainty of both. What is this usurper offering?’

‘He has threatened vengeance against Thebes.’ Ay unrolled the piece of papyrus. ‘This is an extract from his proclamation: “Woe to the bloody city of Thebes, it is full of lies and idolatry. Soon it will be filled with the clamour of battle: the noise of the whip, of the rattling wheel and prancing horse, of the charging chariot, the flashing sword and glittering spear … a great heap of carcasses shall stink under the sun.”’ He let the papyrus proclamation fall to the floor. ‘And so on and so on.’

‘I should be sent north,’ Horemheb offered. ‘Myself and General Rameses. We will gather the Horus and Isis regiments.’

‘And if you lose?’ Ay declared. ‘If your troops mutiny? We are back to what we talked about before. We’d be stripped of both our shield and our sword.’

‘Mahu.’ Ay pointed at me. ‘I ask for your opinion.’

‘The Isis and Horus,’ I declared, ‘should be pulled back to Thebes to defend it as well as to protect us against any uprising. We must play for time, find out who this usurper is and what he intends.’

‘And what do you think?’ Rameses demanded.

‘He is a usurper,’ I replied more boldly than I felt. ‘We all know,’ I gazed around, ‘how Akenhaten’s Queen, Nefertiti, fell sick and died.’

‘Poisoned!’ Tutu spoke up. ‘Nefertiti took poison.’

‘Of her own choice,’ I lied.

Tutu smiled to himself and glanced away.

‘But Akenhaten is different.’ Meryre spoke up. ‘I asked a question. Where is his corpse?’

‘How soon will this news be over Thebes?’ I demanded, ignoring the High Priest.

‘Within a week,’ Ay replied.

‘Then we must issue proclamations,’ I declared, ‘depicting this Akenhaten as a usurper, a pretender financed and supported by foreign troops.’

‘But he carries seals,’ Meryre retorted. ‘He flies the standard of the Aten. What if, Mahu, the woman is an impostor but Akenhaten has truly returned?’

I was forced to face the possibility.

‘What do we know of Akenhaten’s disappearance?’ Meryre continued smoothly. ‘We know that he rode out into the Red Lands and never returned.’

‘And there’s more, isn’t there?’ Ay demanded wearily. ‘Isn’t there, my Lord Maya?’

The treasurer sat, plump shoulders hunched. He muttered something under his breath. Rameses shouted at him to speak up.

‘When Akenhaten disappeared,’ Maya said, staring up at the ceiling as if fascinated by its coating of blue paint, its silver and gold stars, ‘so did a considerable amount of his treasure.’

‘Stolen,’ Rameses declared. ‘The city of Aten fell into chaos. People were helping themselves.’ He glanced round quickly. ‘Courtiers, officials, priests.’

‘No!’ Maya shook his head. ‘This was Pharaoh’s personal treasure, gold, silver, precious stones, about six large chests full. It could be transported by …’ He calculated. ‘Seven or eight donkeys.’

‘And why has this been kept quiet?’ Huy demanded.

‘Because it takes time,’ Maya replied tartly. ‘It takes time, my Lord Huy, to go through records to find out what we have and what we don’t. I tell you now we don’t have much. If the present crisis continues, we will have to start stripping the temples of their gold and silver, melting down sacred vessels. General Rameses,’ Maya flung a hand out, ‘talks of troops, but only the Gods know how we can provision, arm and pay them.’

I ignored the shouting and yelling. I was distracted by that painting. I also wanted to avoid Ay’s gaze as I tried to control the beating of my heart. My mind tumbled like dice in a cup. How much of this was true? Had Ay had a hand in it? Was he plotting, twisting and turning, spreading out his net? And if so, who was his quarry? I recalled the Shabtis of Akenhaten. I hadn’t told my colleagues how beside the body of each victim was found a scarab bearing the crown names of Akenhaten. I often wondered if such secret assassins were Ay’s work, a guise, a pretence to remove opponents in the city. He had done it before, so why not now? When I did glance up I caught the fear in his face: a passing glance, a movement of the eyes and lips as if Ay, the great schemer, had, for once in his life, been caught out in the open, his well-laid plans brutally kicked aside. He was looking at me beseechingly, as if uncertain what to say or do next.

Horemheb and Rameses now sat heads together. What were those two panthers plotting? My spies had also brought in reports about their hushed conversations. The Tuthmosid line was protected only by that small boy Tutankhamun. Once he died, why shouldn’t some ambitious general seize the war crown of Egypt? The Hedjet of Upper Egypt and the Deshat, the red crown, of Lower Egypt? Did Horemheb nourish dreams all of his own? What was that dark soul Rameses whispering in his ear? I glanced round the Royal Circle. The Atenists were grouped together. Despite their outcries and shouts they looked rather smug, pleased with themselves. Huy and Maya were also exchanging glances. Was this when the hyaena pack broke up? Would we now turn on each other? Rahmose was repeating his request that we treat with this usurper. Meryre kept chorusing like a child repeating a chant that this was a wise move, for how did we know he was a usurper? Pharaoh might be returning to his own. I took the dagger from beneath my robes and began to beat the handle against the tiled floor. The clamour died.

‘My lords.’ I smiled round in a show of confidence. ‘Let us deal with the facts. Queen Nefertiti is dead. She took poison. I know she did. I gave her the cup. I felt her body shudder in my arms; her corpse has been mummified and lies in a tomb in the eastern cliffs above the City of the Aten. A usurper has appeared in the Delta, financed and supported by the Hittites. He has suborned some of our regiments because they are hungry, leaderless and have not been paid in months. It is easy to march across a desert, but the great cities of Egypt will not open their gates so readily. Now, let us turn to this Akenhaten, whoever he is! We know what happened in the City of the Aten. How our Pharaoh quarrelled with his wife Nefertiti and banished her to a palace in the north of the city. He then withdrew himself, taking first his elder daughter and then the Princess Ankhesenamun as his Queens. He had children by both. However, the babies died, as did his elder daughter, Meritaten. What else do we know?’

‘We too were banished from his presence,’ Huy offered.

‘Of course you were.’ I smiled. ‘And then there was the reconciliation,’ I repeated facts they all knew, ‘between Akenhaten and Nefertiti: she now reincarnated herself as her husband’s co-ruler, adopting the title Semenkhkare-Ankheperure. For a while both reigned together, then Akenhaten disappeared and Nefertiti tried to rule under her new name. She plotted our deaths and had to be removed. A regency council was set up under God’s Father, Ay. We decided that Akenhaten’s vision was nothing but sand in the wind and moved back to Thebes. We have our Pharaoh, Prince Tutankhamun, to be crowned. So, this usurper is false. He must be dealt with, captured and executed.’

‘But what happens if he is the true Pharaoh?’ Meryre demanded.

‘You go on and on about that!’ Anen, the High Priest of Amun, shouted. ‘Do you know something, my lord, we don’t?’

I stared at Meryre, eyebrows raised. ‘A good question, my lord.’

Meryre looked as if he was going to deny everything, but I held his glance.

‘Akenhaten,’ he declared slowly, ‘believed we had all deserted him. He no longer confided in me but in a gaggle of chapel priests, led by two: Khufu and Djoser. At the time of Akenhaten’s disappearance, these two and other acolyte priests also vanished. However, before you ask where, you must recall how the pestilence had swept the city. Men died and were given quick burial; others fled.’

‘So it is possible,’ I persisted, ‘that when Akenhaten disappeared, went out into the Red Lands, those precious priests, led by Khufu and Djoser, followed suit, taking his personal treasure with them?’

‘That is a possibility,’ Meryre conceded.

‘And it is also possible,’ I demanded, ‘that Akenhaten was murdered by these priests, who then took his treasure, including the Royal Seals, and fled along the Horus Road into Canaan and the power of the Hittites?’

Again Meryre agreed. I watched that sanctimonious face and the others grouped around him. Did they really believe Akenhaten had returned? Were they simply guilty of wishful thinking? Or were they part of some far-fetched plot?

‘And on your most sacred oath,’ I asked quietly, ‘you know nothing of this usurper?’

‘I object.’ Meryre curled his lip.

‘I simply asked, my lord. Now I shall give the Royal Circle my advice. We should play for time. Let us send the high priest Meryre as our official envoy. You, my lord, will soon discover if this is our true Pharaoh or some puppet.’

‘Why me?’ Meryre demanded.

‘You are the High Priest of the Aten. You will simply be our messenger. I shall join you.’

Ay gazed in surprise. Rameses was smiling behind his hand. Horemheb was looking at me strangely, as if noticing me for the first time. Huy and Maya were all attention, as were the rest. Ay’s head went down to hide his grin. I had done what he wanted: united the council and yet exposed both factions to danger. Meryre would go to prepare the way and I would follow. Tutu was nodding in agreement. Horemheb, Rameses, Huy and Maya also signified their assent.

‘Meryre will go first,’ I repeated. ‘He will simply arrive in peace and ask that this usurper, whatever title we want to give him, is acknowledged by us and that we wish to treat with him. I will be the envoy of the Royal Circle. Meryre and myself will then negotiate.’

‘About what?’ Rameses barked

‘Anything and everything.’ I smiled. ‘If he wants Thebes, then we will give him it. If he wants to be proclaimed as the God Incarnate, then we shall press our foreheads against the ground.’

‘And?’ Ay demanded.

‘You, my lord, and the rest will be busy gathering troops from every province and city. Thebes should be left under the protection of General Nakhtimin, whilst Generals Horemheb, Rameses and Rahmose collect every soldier they can, every chariot squadron, every bargeload of marines, and sweep north. We shall bring this invader to battle, defeat him and show our enemies, both at home and abroad, that we mean business. No mercy, no quarter, fire and sword, total annihilation.’

‘And you, my lord Mahu?’ Horemheb asked. ‘You will sit at the enemy camp fire with your skin safe and protected?’

‘At the appropriate time,’ I retorted, ‘both my lord Meryre and myself, as well as the small retinue which will accompany us, shall escape.’

‘Why?’ Huy demanded. ‘My lord Mahu, you put yourself in great danger, not to mention my lord Meryre, of course.’

I found it hard to answer that question, but Ay knew my heart. I was truly curious. I wanted to see if the Veiled One had returned. I wanted to plumb this mystery but, of course, I didn’t say that. I had other demands to make. Horemheb and Rameses repeated Huy’s question.

‘In return,’ I demanded, ‘every member of the Royal Circle shall take an oath, an oath of unequivocal loyalty and obedience to Prince Tutankhamun, who shall be crowned during my departure, whilst his marriage to the Princess Ankhesenamun will be published for all to know.’

Everyone agreed. It would have been treason to refuse.

‘Secondly,’ I insisted, ‘the City of the Aten is crumbling, bats and owls now shelter in the halls, termites eat the wood, the courtyards are overgrown, the sacred pools and lakes are polluted. The tombs in the eastern cliffs …’ I paused. ‘The tombs in the eastern cliffs are protected by my mercenaries; they contain the coffins of those who were our friends and colleagues. They are to be transported back to the Valley of the Kings and given honourable burial.’

Again there was a murmur of agreement. Ay quickly intervened, insisting that Meryre and his entourage of priests leave as quickly as possible, whilst I should follow within the week.

The meeting of the Royal Circle broke up. Ay kept to himself, still seated on his chair, staring down at the rings on his fingers. Horemheb and Rameses drew Maya and Huy into conversation. Meryre and his group came across. The High Priest was acting anxious, fearful of guarantees about his own safety.

‘You are a priest, my lord. The High Priest of the Aten. You will go unarmed, bearing the green boughs of peace. You will be safe.’ I grinned. ‘Well, as safe as I shall be.’

General Rahmose, face all sweat-soaked, was shaking slightly, so I picked up my striped cloak and handed it to him. I always wore that cloak; it was a gift from Djarka against the cool of the evening, the type worn by his people, the Shemsu: light enough under the heat of the midday sun but sure protection against the freezing cold of the desert night.

Horemheb and Rameses came across and took me aside. Both generals were now elated at the prospect of military action. I idly wondered if I had been too clever. What guarantee did we have, apart from a personal oath, that, once victorious, these two panthers might not turn their troops south and march on Thebes? Ay must have been thinking the same, for he interrupted our conversation, bringing the meeting back to order, proclaiming that we would all take the oath the following morning. In the end that was our best guarantee. Whilst Tutankhamun was alive, the hyaenas who surrounded him would not turn on each other. Already proclamations were reminding the people that the Prince was the grandson of the Magnificent One, Amenhotep III, of the sacred blood and the royal line. Not even Rameses, for all his treachery, would dare raise his hand against Tutankhamun and commit such blasphemy.

The council chamber doors were flung open. We drifted out along the passageway, past Nakhtimin’s guards, into the courtyard, where our various retinues were waiting. The sun was now beginning to set, and the breeze was cool. I regretted my magnanimity in giving General Rahmose my cloak. I looked around. He was following Tutu and Meryre into the shadows of the gateway leading out. I glimpsed a white-robed figure abruptly detach itself from a group of priests waiting for their master. At first I thought this man was a messenger bearing important news. He moved swiftly, silently, like a racing shadow, a blur of white. I caught the glint of steel. Rahmose was turning, fearful, still weak with the fever. He could do little to protect himself. The white-garbed figure crashed into him and both men went sprawling. Rahmose’s scream rent the air as the knife rose and fell.

The assailant sprang to his feet as if to escape through a door back into the warren of passageways of the palace. Two of Nakhtimin’s spearmen followed in pursuit. The man reached the door even as I hurried forward. The door was locked. The man turned and Nakhtimin’s spearmen, ignoring my shouts, loosed their shafts. One spear took the man straight in the belly, pinning him to the door behind, whilst the other drove deep into the man’s chest. He shook and screamed, arms flailing even as the blood gushed out of the gaping wounds. The spearmen withdrew their shafts and the corpse slid to the ground.

I hurried across with the rest. The courtyard resounded with cries and shouts, the clatter of drawn weapons. Meryre and his group clustered around Rahmose. He lay twisted, one arm going backwards and forwards like the wing of a pinioned bird, heels drumming on the ground. Pentju the physician, who had remained silent throughout the entire council meeting, was crouching beside the fallen man. He could do little. Rahmose’s eyes were already glazing over in death, mouth spluttering blood, fingers trying to stem the jagged cuts to his neck, throat and chest. He was a dead man in all but name. I glanced across. The assassin lay slumped in a bloody heap. I went and turned the body over. A young man, smooth-faced, head shaven like that of a priest, but the palms of his hands were coarse and his arms criss-crossed with scars.

‘A soldier?’ Maya asked. ‘Disguised as a priest? He was holding this.’ The Treasurer handed over a scarab displaying the throne names of Akenhaten. It was crudely done, the clumsy hieroglyphs painted white on the hardened black stone. Ay, surrounded by his guards, inspected both corpses and shrugged.

‘Mahu,’ he demanded, ‘find out what happened.’

‘I might as well try and get a stone to sing,’ I shouted back. I crouched by the corpse of the assassin. The scars on his wrists and arms were superficial, and beneath the blood-soaked robe I could detect no other mark or wound, but on the hardened soles of his feet I glimpsed what I considered to be green dye.

‘Grass,’ I declared, staring at Pentju. ‘He was a man used to walking on grass, and those scars on his wrists and arms? I suspect he was a gardener. Meryre!’ I shouted.

‘My lord?’

‘This man was not one of yours?’

The little priest’s eyes were hard black buttons, mouth all prim and proper. He looked too composed for a man unused to blood.

‘He’s not one of mine,’ he snapped. ‘Though one of our company is missing.’

I immediately ordered a search of the palace grounds. The body of Rahmose was removed to the House of the Embalmers in the Temple of Amun, whilst I ordered the assassin’s corpse to be hung in chains by the heels from the Wall of Death, a grim grey stretch of stone, part of an ancient fort which overlooked one of the palace quaysides. The rest of the Royal Circle left as quickly as they could. The courtyard fell silent. Meryre came back.

‘That man,’ he insisted, ‘is not one of mine, but a lector priest is missing.’

‘No one knows where he is?’ I asked.

Meryre shook his head and waddled off in a show of dignity. I sat in the shade of one of the crouching lions. Pentju came and squatted beside me, staring at the bloodstains on the paving stones. The flies were already gathering in small black clouds.

‘You were silent in the Royal Circle,’ I said.

‘You are very calm,’ he replied. ‘Rahmose was wearing your robe. Perhaps it was you the assassin was seeking?’

I swallowed hard, rubbing my hands together to hide my own unease. The same thought had occurred to me, but there again, Rahmose was slight, with a balding head, a complete contrast to my own appearance. What did Nefertiti call me? A handsome baboon, with a heavy mouth, snub nose and shock of black hair.

‘Redeemed, my dear baboon,’ she would say as she pressed a finger against my lips, ‘by those large dark eyes.’

‘You seem unconcerned.’ Pentju broke my reverie. ‘I said Rahmose was wearing your robe.’

I waved my hand. ‘Don’t agitate me, Pentju. You are a physician.’ I smiled at him. ‘Don’t they teach in the House of Life not to be misled by the first symptoms?’

Pentju laughed drily, picked up the water skin between his feet, took a slurp, then offered it to me. I refused.

‘If you go north,’ he put the water skin back, ‘our young Prince will be left unprotected.’

‘Oh no he won’t,’ I replied. ‘Djarka will guard him, whilst you know that everyone in the Royal Circle needs Tutankhamun’s protection. He may be the son of the Heretic Pharaoh, but he is also the grandson of the Magnificent One, the last male heir of the Tuthmosid line. The greatest threat to our young Prince was Nefertiti, and she’s gone. Now, tell me, Physician, why were you so silent?’

‘That impostor who has appeared in the Delta.’ Pentju sucked on his lips. ‘It’s not Akenhaten. In the last months before his disappearance he often talked to me, Mahu, especially about his son. He entrusted him to me and instructed me that if anything happened to him, you were to be the boy’s official guardian. He said you were different from the rest, Mahu, on three points: you had little ambition, you were loyal and you were searching for your soul.’

I glanced away: that was the old Akenhaten, the Veiled One, the Grotesque. I had befriended him when we were both boys, mere strangers in this great palace.

‘I tell you,’ Pentju continued in a hurried whisper, ‘Akenhaten believed that he too had lost his soul. He said he would never find it in the City of the Aten, that he would withdraw into the Red Lands and wait for his God to come.’

‘And you think he did that?’

‘I know he did.’

‘So, do you think he is still alive?’

‘He may be.’

‘So why shouldn’t he emerge to reclaim his throne and once again wear the double crown of Egypt?’

‘Akenhaten believed he had found the One True God. People think,’ Pentju chose his words carefully, ‘that he’d slipped into madness, convinced he was the One God himself, but that’s not true. If Akenhaten saw God in anyone, it wasn’t really himself, but Nefertiti. He adored her. He loved her. He was infatuated with her. You know that, Mahu. Then the truth about Nefertiti emerged: her arrogance, her pride, the relationship between herself and her father Ay, her persecution of Khiya, Tutankhamun’s mother, secretly feeding her potions and powders so she would never conceive. That was the truth which drove him away.’ Pentju added bitterly, ‘That’s what sent Akenhaten out into the Red Lands to find what he had lost.’

‘And his treasure?’ I asked.

‘At the time of his disappearance the City of the Aten was in chaos. The plague was raging like Sekhmet the Destroyer. You saw it, Mahu, streets littered with corpses, the funeral pyres on the cliffs above the city turning the sky black with their smoke. I suspect Akenhaten and a group of his priests, donkeys laden with the treasure they might need, slipped out of the city.’

‘Would they go north?’ I asked. ‘To Canaan?’

‘That’s possible. Akenhaten’s mother, Queen Tiye, and all her kin from Akhmin were once Shemsu. They wandered from Canaan, across Sinai into Egypt. They made Egypt’s Gods their own but they never forgot their own God, the God of Canaan, all-seeing, all-powerful, not to be worshipped in idols or statues. They regarded the Sun Disc, the Aten, as His symbol.’ Pentju shrugged. ‘You know this as well as I do.’

I did, but I was trying to make sense of what we had been told.

‘I kept quiet,’ Pentju sighed, ‘because I know the truth. The creature at Avaris is an impostor, possibly one of the priests.’

‘But still a danger to us?’

Pentju clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Mahu, it was dangerous as soon as we became Children of the Kap, the Royal Nursery.’ He picked up his water skin and walked away. I dozed for a while in the shadow of the crouched lion.

‘Sir?’

I woke with a start, hand going to my knife. My captain of mercenaries stretched forward his right hand, caked with blood.

‘We found a corpse, my lord, a priest, naked and trussed like a chicken for the pot, throat slashed from ear to ear, his body concealed beneath a bramble bush between a clump of persea trees. One of my lord Meryre’s entourage has identified him. The assassin must have lured him there and killed him.’ He lifted an eyebrow.

‘And taken his robes,’ I finished. ‘One priest amongst many, eh, Captain?’

‘Like flies on a turd, my lord.’

‘And the assassin?’ I asked.

‘A gardener, a rose-tender from the inner garden. My lord, General Rahmose was wearing your cloak, the striped one.’

‘I know he was wearing my cloak, Captain, and it is one which is eye-catching, a gift from a friend. But,’ I got to my feet and clapped the man on the shoulder, ‘we’ll have to wait and see if the hunter returns for a second try.’

I wanted to confront Ay, Meryre and the rest, but hot temper is ill suited to the search for the truth, so I went to my own quarters. The young Prince was already in the House of Adoration, a small suite of chambers I had set aside for him. I checked the windows and doors, as I always did, ensuring that, despite the heat, they were shuttered and closed. Every entrance was guarded by at least three mercenaries, with the strictest instructions that they were to allow no one in except myself, Djarka or Sobeck, and that they were never to leave unless two others were on guard. I handed my own dagger to the sentries and went through into the antechamber, which smelt of cassia and frankincense. In the small bedchamber beyond, Tutankhamun was already lying beneath the sheets on his bed. The headrest, a brilliant blue and gold, glinted in the lamplight, the post at each end carved in the shape of Bes the Dwarf God, so beloved of children. Between the posts, at both top and bottom, a line of Uraei, spitting cobras, the protectors of Egypt’s rulers. I pushed aside the linen hangings, and the little boy pulled himself up, face crumpled with sleep, his wide dark eyes making him seem like a little owl awakening in its nest.

‘Uncle Mahu!’

‘I have come to check the oil lamps, Your Highness.’

‘I am afraid.’ The boy knelt on the bed, hands clasped together.

‘You are not afraid.’ I sat down beside him and felt his forehead. It was cool. ‘You are telling me stories,’ I smiled, ‘to make me stay.’ I picked up the goblet of green faience on the nearby table, sniffed and tasted the pure water. ‘Djarka will come and sleep in your chamber,’ I murmured. I pointed to the small gong hanging from one of the bedposts. ‘What do you do if you are really frightened?’

Again that beautiful smile, and his little hands stole beneath the headrest and pulled out a small hammer, which he shook vigorously.

‘I hit it, Uncle Mahu, I hit it hard!’

‘Good.’ I cupped his cheek in one hand. ‘And remember, Your Highness,’ I kissed him gently on the forehead, ‘I am not your uncle.’

‘Yes, Uncle Mahu. Have you come to tell me a story?’

‘Not tonight.’ I grinned. ‘But perhaps in the morning I’ll tell you about the brave deeds of Ahmose, your ancestor, who drove the Hyksos from Egypt with fire and sword.’

‘I know all his deeds.’

‘Do you now? And can you count? Do you remember your numbers? How many are in a shet?’

‘One hundred, Uncle Mahu.’ The boy clapped his hands.

‘And how many shets in a kha?’

‘Er …’ His face was all screwed up. ‘A kha is a thousand, so there must be ten.’

‘And the God Shu? What is the hieroglyph for him?’

‘A man with a plume on his head, or sometimes a man with the head of a lion.’

‘Good! Good!’ I whispered.

‘Do you love me, Uncle Mahu?’

‘Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Ankhes …’ Tutankhamun always stumbled over his half-sister’s name, so he had taken to using the shortened form. ‘Ankhes says you love nobody.’

I stared at the little boy dressed in his shift, head slightly to one side, waiting eagerly for my reply. I kissed him on the forehead.

‘Sometimes, Your Highness, I find it difficult to love, but you are different.’

‘Did you love my father?’

‘Of course.’

‘And my mother?’

I recalled the small, black-eyed Khiya, the Mitanni princess whom Nefertiti had nicknamed the Monkey.

‘A great lady, Your Highness, and one I loved.’

‘Ankhes says you do not speak with true voice.’

‘That is so of everyone except yourself, Your Highness. Nevertheless, I swear that when I speak to you it will always be with true voice.’

Tutankhamun flung his arms round my neck.

‘Ankhes,’ he whispered in my ear, ‘does say you are the best of all.’

‘The best of what, Your Highness?’

‘The best amongst the hyaenas!’ he whispered.

I felt cold, and slowly withdrew. The little fellow smiled up at me, face eager for my reply. His innocence disturbed me. I stared around. I had done my best to make the chamber comfortable. The walls had been washed and repainted with country scenes: a fowler out with his nets, birds and insects, including a locust of pinkish-yellow hue resting on a light papyrus stem. Above this, birds flew with widespread gorgeous wings against a dark green sky. A dove with bulging throat cooed over a golden nest containing a silver egg. Next to it, a group of pelicans, father, mother and brood of young, advanced unknowing towards the fowler’s net. I felt a surge of depression. I had tried to make this chamber pleasant for the boy, with its countless niches for oil lamps in coloured glass which would glow all night. Nevertheless, the sight of those pelicans advancing unsuspecting towards the net held by the fowler, with his unshaven face and red-ochre skin, now seemed sinister. I recalled the assassin.

‘Go to sleep, little one,’ I whispered. I made the boy lie down and pulled up the sheets.

‘Will you tell me a story?’ Tutankhamun asked sleepily. ‘Ankhes says you are a hunter, the Striped Hyaena.’

A shiver, as if some evil spirit crawled over my shoulder, made me start. I gently pressed his hand.

‘Is that what she calls me, Your Highness, the Striped Hyaena?’

‘Of course, Uncle Mahu, because of your cloak.’

I recalled Rahmose all a-sweat, the kohl rings round his eyes running in dark rivulets, my cloak about him, striding across the courtyard, the assassin streaking like a flame to kill him. Tutankhamun was asking me more questions, but I gently chided him and began to hum a song Djarka had taught me, a lullaby shepherds would sing to their flocks.

I waited until the boy was asleep, then left looking for Djarka and Sobeck. They were sitting with our men in a nearby courtyard. A Nubian mercenary was entertaining them, dancing to the eerie sound of the flute and tambourine, arms moving rhythmically, body swaying in fluttering steps. He was dressed in a loincloth beneath a thin linen robe. In the light from the torches he too looked threatening, with his cropped head, huge earrings, necklace and beads, a leopard skin hanging about his arms: a spirit of the night dancing round the pools of light! The shadows fluttered as if the ghosts of the dead had come back to mimic the actions of the dancer. I felt uneasy, and sharply asked Sobeck and Djarka to accompany me back to the House of Adoration. My own chamber lay next to the Prince’s; its windows were unshuttered to allow in the fragrance of the gardens, braziers and oil lamps glowed warmly against the cold night air. Djarka scrutinised the wine jug and filled three goblets, a sweet-tasting white wine from the imperial vineyards to the north.

‘You have eaten, my lord?’ He squatted next to Sobeck. I leaned back against the cushions.

‘My belly is full because my heart aches.’

‘Poetry?’ Sobeck teased.

‘The truth,’ I replied. I told them what had happened in the council chamber; the threats posed by the usurper, now crowing like a cock on his dunghill at Avaris. As I spoke, I watched Sobeck. He lived closer to the crocodile pool than I; he was often the first to pick up rumours and gossip. Yet he too was surprised. He sat, face tight, eyes narrowed, whistling under his breath as he shook his head at the news.

‘Could it be Akenhaten?’ he demanded.

‘What do you think?’ I turned to Djarka.

Perhaps it was talking to the young Prince, feeling his soft cheek, yet I noticed that evening how my friend, my servant, had aged. Furrows marked his mouth, his eyes were tired, there was an ashy tinge to his night-black hair. Djarka had not forgotten. He had never truly reconciled himself to the death of his beloved a few years earlier.

‘Djarka, you are of the Shemsu? Those who wander the desert.’

‘As is Ay.’ Djarka smiled. ‘As was his sister, Great Queen Tiye. All those who come from the town of Akhmin were once wanderers from Canaan.’

‘And my question …’

‘I know your question, master.’ Djarka’s voice was sardonic. ‘Did Akenhaten go out into the desert to meet these people? Did they spirit him away?’

‘And the treasure?’

‘I certainly remember the priests, Khufu and Djoser.’ Djarka sipped at his wine. ‘And the other chapel priests. They were fanatics, true servants of Aten. They may have taken the treasure and followed their master.’

‘But why?’ Sobeck asked. ‘Why leave the power and the glory of Egypt for some village in Canaan? It’s more likely Akenhaten became a recluse, or his own priests murdered him!’

‘And you have heard nothing about this impostor?’ I asked.

‘I am a Lord of the Darkness,’ Sobeck retorted. ‘My kingdom is not your kingdom, Mahu. However, I drink your wine — so don’t distrust me, Baboon of the South. I stand and fall with you. I knew nothing of this! So, what will happen now?’

I told them what I had suggested. Djarka and Sobeck objected, remonstrating angrily.

‘A foolish move,’ Djarka snapped. ‘If you go north you’ll be killed!’

‘If we stay here and dither,’ I objected, ‘the same will happen. We haven’t the wealth or troops to fight a war in the north, or against Thebes or against any other enemy which may emerge.’

‘No, no.’ Djarka lifted his hand. ‘I agree you must go north, but go with Meryre. This impostor and his army must be linked to the Atenists. If Meryre goes first, he may well spend the time plotting your death. Insist that you go with him, that you too are protected by the power of the Aten. Stay close to him, as a friend. Act as if he is your ally rather than your enemy. If you go in the company of a high priest, your life too is sacred.’

‘Do that,’ Sobeck offered, ‘and I will go with you. What about the young Prince?’

‘He’ll be safe,’ Djarka declared. ‘I’ll see to that. If there’s one person who keeps the Royal Circle united against all enemies it’s Prince Tutankhamun, so the sooner he is crowned the better.’ He paused as the captain of my guard came in, knelt and nosed the ground before me.

‘The assassin, my lord. We searched his quarters.’ He straightened up and stretched out his hand. I took the small yet brilliant ruby glowing like a fire. ‘That’s all we found.’

I dismissed the captain. Sobeck plucked the ruby from my hand and held it up against the light.

‘I have heard of similar stones,’ he murmured, ‘being on sale in Eastern Thebes.’

‘The Shabtis of Akenhaten?’ I asked.

‘Can I have this?’ Sobeck grinned.

‘It’s yours.’

‘I have told you before,’ Sobeck continued, ‘the narrow streets and alleyways of Eastern Thebes have nothing to do with the dreams of a God. What you must ask yourself, my dear Mahu, is who told the assassin that you were wearing a striped robe?’ He turned and grinned. ‘Oh, by the way, the door the assassin tried to escape through, unlike many in this palace, was jammed shut by a thick wedge of wood.’

The frieze on my wine cup, a Libyan being chased by Saluki hounds, seemed to come to life in the flickering light of the oil lamps.

‘A gardener,’ I mused, ‘who owns a precious ruby, kills a priest to take his place. How do you think he inveigled that priest away from the rest?’

‘Some of the shaven heads have exotic tastes,’ Sobeck retorted. ‘But whoever bought him — I mean the gardener — was quite prepared to sacrifice him. I suspect,’ Sobeck popped the ruby into his leather pouch, ‘that given time, the real assassin would have had the gardener disposed of and the ruby taken back. I mean, once the wearer of the striped robe was killed.’

‘Who,’ Djarka asked, ‘is this real assassin?’

‘Ankhesenamun calls me the Striped Hyaena,’ I whispered.

‘Beware of the woman from outside,’ Sobeck intoned a maxim of the scribe Ani, ‘who is not known in the city. She is a water deep and boundless.’ He wagged a finger in my face. ‘Beware of such a woman.’

‘Many thanks for the advice. Oh, by the way, Djarka, the painting of the pelicans in the House of Adoration? Have it changed tomorrow; remove the scene of the fowler and his net.’