The Season of the Hyaena

Chapter 5

A deep-bowled goblet of wine was brought for the Hittite. He sat with his back to the cellar wall, facing Nebamun and myself, who were flanked by officers. Behind us stood two Nubian archers, arrows notched to their bows. At first the Hittite sang softly to himself, head going backwards and forwards. I had met Hittites before in the mercenary corps, as well as those Akenhaten had garbed in women’s clothes and called his Orchestra of the Sun. The captive was a young man probably not yet twenty years, a blue tattoo on his right cheek. The scribe who writes these memoirs asks me why I recall such things. It’s because they are pictures in my mind. I have to call up the smell, the taste, and once I do, everything else comes back. I recall how musty that cellar smelt. The odour of drying blood, of cooling sweat, our bodies still tingling from the frenetic excitement of battle. The Hittite prayed to his strange Weather God, sipping his wine. Nebamun leaned across and tapped him on the wrist with his staff. A litany of questions began, translated by the scribe.

‘Where are you from?’

‘The land of the Hittites.’

Nebamun smacked him warningly on the wrist.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Sile, in the Delta.’

‘And who sent you?’

‘The ruler of the Two Lands — Neferheperure-Waenree, Akenhaten.’

‘How do you know it was he?’

‘He wore the Peschet, the Two Crowns.’

‘What does he look like?’

My heart skipped a beat as the Hittite gave a description which could fit Akenhaten: tall, thin, with misshapen body, wide hips, long face and strange eyes.

‘Who were his closest councillors?’

‘Two of your priests, Khufu and Djoser. They go everywhere with him.’

‘And who else?’

‘Hittite colonels. Commanders of the royal hosts.’

‘So this usurper does have the support of your king?’

‘Hittite commanders,’ the prisoner replied.

‘And how many men do you have?’

The Hittite sipped at the wine, and his gaze shifted to me, a spark of amusement in his eyes. He must have heard Nebamun use my name. He put down his cup and jabbed his finger at me.

‘He asks if you are the lord Mahu,’ the scribe turned to me, ‘and so wonders why you are not with the true Pharaoh.’

‘How many men?’ I repeated Nebamun’s question.

‘About ten thousand in all.’ The Hittite grinned as Nebamun whistled under his breath.

‘He’s lying,’ the scribe hissed.

‘And who else?’ Nebamun insisted. ‘Who advises this so-called Pharaoh?’

‘Aziru, King of Byblos!’

A collective sigh rose from Nebamun’s advisers.

‘Nothing we don’t already suspect,’ Nebamun murmured. ‘A usurper assisted by our enemies in Canaan, and of course, the Hittites love to dabble where they shouldn’t.’

‘Describe the woman,’ I asked. ‘This Pharaoh’s wife-queen.’

The Hittite put his hands to his head, talking excitedly. I caught the word ‘Nefertiti’.

‘She is so beautiful,’ the scribe translated. ‘Red hair and eyes so green like those of a cat.’

‘Then she is a pretender.’ I smiled at the Hittite. ‘The Nefertiti I knew had blue eyes.’ I tapped the scribe on the wrist. ‘Tell him that. Tell him I saw Nefertiti die.’

The scribe translated. The Hittite shrugged and drank greedily from his goblet.

‘He is only telling us what he knows,’ the scribe declared. I wondered what the Hittite really knew of the Egyptian language. He grinned at me through broken bloody teeth.

‘Perhaps we should kill him slowly and cruelly?’

A shift in the Hittite’s eyes.

‘You know our tongue?’ I taunted.

He made a cutting movement across his throat. I caught the words ‘Gerh en arit sapt.’

‘What was that?’

‘He says that all of us will die on the Night of Judgment. You are right, my lord Mahu, he does know our tongue.’

‘Who sent him on this mission?’ I asked.

‘Heripetchiu, the commander of the mercenaries.’

‘What happens,’ I leaned across, pointing to my chest, ‘if we go as envoys to this usurper?’

The scribe translated.

‘Shemensuion.’ I used the Egyptian word. ‘Shemensuion,’ I repeated. ‘A royal envoy.’

‘Set saseer, sekht sasa,’ the Hittite replied.

‘Nonsense,’ I taunted back.

‘Per khet,’ the Hittite spat out. ‘Samu sabas ebu, seba sebu.’

‘He’s saying, my Lord Mahu …’ the scribe began.

‘I know what he’s saying.’ I held the Hittite’s gaze. ‘That if I go, I will enter the Field of Fire, the House of Darkness, where the demons and devourers are waiting for me.’

‘Mahu mahez.’ The Hittite was laughing now, making a pun on my name. ‘Mahu mahez.’

‘So I’ll be eaten by the fierce-eyed lion? Devoured by the lion-headed serpent?’

The Hittite nodded like an excited child. The scribe returned to his questioning about the attack. This time the Hittite was more forthcoming. We listened attentively as he described how they had sailed untroubled along the river under false standards, pretending to be mercenaries bound for the garrison at Memphis, the White-Walled City. How no one had challenged them, how at night they had sheltered in lonely places along the river.

‘He’s telling the truth,’ Nebamun agreed. ‘The lord Horemheb will be concerned. There are war barges on the river, armed men going backwards and forwards. There are stretches of the Nile to the north of this city where you could hide a fleet of barges. Ask him if he knew that Prince Tutankhamun was here?’

The Hittite replied that he did, and that was why they had come: to take back the Pharaoh’s true son and heir, together with his sister.

‘How did they know?’ I asked.

The Hittite shrugged his shoulders and gabbled quickly.

‘He says,’ the scribe translated, ‘that they knew but he does not know how or why.’

‘Did they have friends here?’ I asked. ‘Allies who helped them?’

Again, the shrug.

‘He’s a junior officer,’ Nebamun intervened. ‘I suspect they hoped to take the house.’ He fell silent; he did not wish to discuss such a matter with his officers present.

The questioning continued. The Hittite lapsed into Egyptian and began taunting us again. At last Nebamun made a cutting movement with his hand.

‘He’s told us what he can and he’s finished the wine.’ He raised his hands and snapped his fingers.

Behind us the Nubian archers pulled back their bows. The Hittite stretched up; one arrow took him deep in the chest, the other in the throat. He thrashed back against the wall, legs and arms twitching, head going backwards and forwards, blood spurting between his lips, then he gave a sigh and his head fell to one side.

‘Take his body and put it with the rest.’ Nebamun got to his feet.

We left the cellar and went back into the courtyard. I glanced up, Ankhesenamun was smiling down at me from a window, Meryre beside her. I stayed for a while, following Nebamun across that slaughter yard, where the enemy dead were being stripped, their right hands cut off, their corpses thrown into a cart. Nebamun had ordered them to be taken down to a nearby crocodile pool. The quartermasters were surveying the pile of bloody weapons. An army scribe was sitting on a camp stool, writing tray across his lap, busily counting the severed hands, coldly, methodically, as if he was making a tally of bushels of wheat or jugs of wine.

‘About four hundred in all, my lord.’ He raised his head as Nebamun approached. The colonel wafted away the hovering flies.

‘Finish the count,’ he said. ‘Some of the corpses we will never find.’ He gestured at the severed limbs. ‘These can join the rest.’ He raised his voice. ‘I want the courtyard cleaned with water and vinegar, baskets of flowers brought out to hide the smell. This is my house, not a slaughter pit.’

I was eager to talk to Nebamun but I could not discuss anything whilst the rest were present, so I excused myself and returned to my own chamber. I stripped and washed in salt water, anointed myself, put on a clean loincloth, robe and soft sandals. I was dazed and confused after the battle. I still felt as if there were blood swilling around my feet.

Djarka was waiting for me in the Prince’s quarters. He was kneeling on the floor; Tutankhamun was playing with toy soldiers. On either side sat Ankhesenamun and Amedeta, both garbed in loose white robes.

‘All hail the returning hero.’ Ankhesenamun smiled. She rose and filled a goblet of wine, and, coming across, pressed it into my hand. Her perfume was fragrant after the stench of slaughter, the tang of blood and the sweaty mustiness of that cellar. ‘We prayed for you, my lord Mahu. How did it all happen?’

I sipped at the white wine. Ankhesenamun stepped back and surveyed me from head to toe.

‘Your eyes look strange and your cheeks are unshaven,’ she murmured, ‘but otherwise not a cut or a mark. What would have happened, my lord Mahu, if they had broken through?’

‘They would not have found you.’ Djarka spoke up. ‘I have told you, my lady, what my orders were.’

I glanced round at the Prince, playing with his toy soldiers, unaware of my presence. Usually he would jump to his feet and run towards me. I went and crouched beside him. He was muttering under his breath, pushing one wooden soldier against another, the usual childish game, but now he did it with an intensity I had never seen before.

‘My lord, Your Highness.’ I stroked his head.

He kept banging the soldiers one against the other.

‘My lord,’ I repeated.

Again, no reply, so I took one soldier from his hand. He turned quickly, holding the other up as if he were about to strike me; his face was pale, his eyes empty.

‘My lord?’ I took the other soldier from his hand; his fingers were clammy and cold. I sat down and pulled him towards me. He didn’t resist, but just sat there whispering as if he was talking to someone I couldn’t see. I glared furiously at Djarka.

‘He’s only frightened.’ Ankhesenamun came up. ‘The clatter of weapons and screams below were hideous. He’s only a child, aren’t you, my beloved?’

She knelt beside me. For a moment that word, ‘beloved’, and the smell of her perfume, the softness of her shoulder and arm, recalled Nefertiti. Tutankhamun jumped from my lap and flung his arms around her. For a while he just stood there, face buried in her neck. Ankhesenamun patted him gently on the back, rocking him gently as if he were a babe. I got to my feet, indicating to Djarka to follow. In the corridor outside I took him to a window enclosure overlooking the courtyard.

‘Is that fear?’ I asked.

Djarka blew his cheeks out. ‘The fighting was ferocious when those men burst in. Amedeta began screaming; so did the Prince. I dismissed his mood as the result of fear; I let him play.’

‘Has that happened before?’

‘Once, twice, but it’s usually a passing mood.’

‘Does he become violent?’ I insisted.

‘On one occasion, yes. He hit me with a toy scabbard; a piece of flint scored my cheek, and he ran away and hid. When I found him he was fine, though he had no recollection of what he had done. He’s only a child.’ Djarka repeated Ankhesenamun’s words. ‘He’s been snatched from one palace to another, then brought to this place of slaughter. They were guided in, weren’t they? We have a traitor in our midst.’

‘Possibly.’ I stared down at the courtyard, now empty of corpses; the servants were busy swilling it with water mixed with salt and vinegar. All the dead and weapons had been removed; only a splash of blood on the wall gave any indication of what had happened just a short while earlier. I suddenly felt weak, slightly dizzy. I pressed myself against the wall.

‘My lord, you are well?’

‘You know what it is like,’ I sighed. ‘I’ll eat and I’ll drink. Sleep as if I haven’t for days. One thing is certain, Djarka.’ I smiled at him. ‘We are no longer envoys. Keep an eye on the Prince and tell me if that ever happens again.’

I was halfway down the stairs when a servant delivered a message: Colonel Nebamun wished to see me in his private chamber. When I arrived, Sobeck and Meryre were already present, seated around a small table. Nebamun himself was acting as servant, pouring wine, serving freshly baked bread with spiced duck. He too had washed and changed. No longer the warrior, but the veteran soldier in his white robes and gold collars of office. Nevertheless, his face was drawn and lined, his eyes bloodshot. He nursed a savage cut on his forearm which the physician had already bandaged. Sobeck, who had received a similar cut on his thigh, was trying to tighten the bandage.

‘Don’t do that,’ Nebamun warned. ‘I don’t know why, but the wound will go putrid. Keep the bandage as loose as possible. My lord Mahu.’ He gestured at the cushions.

I sat down and Nebamun served me; the duck smelt delicious.

‘Go on, eat,’ Nebamun urged. ‘I have dismissed the servants.’ He squatted down himself. ‘I am a widower with no sons, though I am happy enough. Two or three of the local ladies see to my wants.’ He gestured around the stark chamber, which boasted only a few chests, stools and tables. It was dominated by a great wall painting showing Amenhotep the Magnificent, in the guise of Montu, God of War, in his chariot hurtling across scores of slain.

‘He’s my hero.’ Nebamun smiled. ‘I often come in here to say my prayers. When he was Pharaoh, there was no nonsense about the One.’ He glanced quickly at Meryre. ‘When he was Pharaoh, Hittite mercenaries did not sail along the Nile and attack the White-Walled City. They plundered neighbouring mansions,’ he sighed, ‘killed a few servants. I have sent troops to hunt along the banks; some may still be hiding.’

Meryre remained silent, staring down at his food. At last he shook himself from his reverie.

‘How did they know we were here?’ he asked.

‘Are you implying that I told them?’ Sobeck retorted.

‘Of course they knew,’ Nebamun intervened. ‘It was no great secret. Your flotilla must have been seen by many. You have been here a few days, people knew …’

‘We should have left the Prince at the City of the Aten,’ Meryre insisted.

I shifted so I could look at him directly: that round pious face, eyelids stained with green kohl, the Sun Disc amulet still around his neck. He sat all smug like a poisoned toad, cheeks bulging ready to spit his poison. He had that arrogant look which, when we were Children of the Kap, always provoked me. He was daring me to confront him, to ask if he was the traitor.

‘Shall we continue our mission?’ he asked, popping a morsel of food into his mouth.

‘No!’ I replied. ‘You know that we cannot. We are going to our deaths.’

‘You have broken the orders of the Royal Circle. The decrees of the Taurati.’ He invoked the official term for the regency council. ‘You have broken them twice. You could be accused of treason.’

‘Then arrest me, or try to!’

Meryre dismissed my words with a contemptuous gesture.

‘We must continue our mission,’ he insisted.

‘Nonsense!’ I glanced at Nebamun, but he refused to intervene; this was not a matter for him.

‘Then I shall continue my mission.’ Meryre pushed away the small table; he got to his feet and waddled towards the door.

‘Priest!’ I shouted, clambering to my feet. Meryre paused and turned round. I glimpsed the sword, Colonel Nebamun’s, lying on a table just near the doorway, and ran across and drew it. Meryre turned back to the door, but I crashed into him. Nebamun and Sobeck sprang to their feet. I tried to grasp Meryre’s head, but his wig came off in my hands. He turned, face all flushed, eyes glittering, and glanced at the sword.

‘What are you going to do, Mahu, Baboon of the South? Kill a high priest? We are under orders from the Royal Council.’ He tried to push me away.

‘This morning,’ I hissed, ‘those same people we are meant to treat with tried to kill me and everyone in this house, though perhaps not you.’ I grabbed the Sun Disc amulet and pulled the chain off his neck. He winced in pain.

‘Colonel Nebamun,’ he protested, ‘this is an outrage, it’s sacrilege.’

‘My lord Mahu,’ Nebamun warned.

‘I am the Prince’s Protector,’ I replied, ‘his official guardian.’ I brought the sword’s tip under Meryre’s fat chin. ‘I do not think I can allow you to go. I am placing you under arrest.’

‘How dare you?’ Meryre spluttered. He struggled to break free, but I held him firm against the door, the sword point digging beneath his chin.

‘Shall I tell you about the law, Colonel Nebamun?’ I kept my gaze on that fat, round face, resisting the urge to beat him or press the sword tip a little deeper. ‘Pharaoh’s law is very clear. An attack upon the Royal Person, or any member of the Royal Family or the Sacred Circle, is high treason, punishable by death.’

Some of the anger drained away from Meryre’s face.

‘You are not implying,’ his fat jowls quivered, ‘you are not saying that I am a traitor? I knew nothing about that attack.’

I stepped back. ‘I didn’t say you did, but Colonel Nebamun witnessed what the Hittite said. They came here to kill me and to abduct the Royal Personages: that’s treason! You know, Colonel Nebamun,’ I kept my eyes on Meryre, ‘that it is against the law for any loyal subject of Pharaoh to negotiate or treat with traitors. So, because of that attack, our mission has ended. You, my lord Meryre, because you threatened to break Pharaoh’s law, will be placed under house arrest. I shall take full responsibility for it. Now, my lord, I understand you are leaving.’

I opened the door and bellowed for the guards lounging at the foot of the stairs. They came hurrying up.

‘Escort my lord Meryre to his quarters,’ I declared. The High Priest looked as if he was going to resist. ‘If he objects, bind his hands.’

Meryre puffed himself out, fat fingers plucking at the beaded shawl around his shoulders.

‘I shall go to my own quarters,’ he said. ‘I need no escort.’

He walked down the stairs. The guards looked at me; I nodded and they let him by.

‘Follow him,’ I ordered. ‘As long as he goes where he should and stays where he should, don’t interfere!’

I returned to the chamber.

‘Do you think Meryre is a traitor?’ Sobeck asked.

I sat back on the cushions. ‘He could be, but there again, half of Egypt knew about our mission. I do wonder what would have happened if the raiders had been successful.’ I picked up some bread and broke it. ‘If that had been the case, we would all have been past caring wouldn’t we? But to answer your question bluntly, Sobeck, yes, I suspect Meryre is a traitor, though proving it is another matter.’

‘Is he part of the conspiracy or the cause of it?’

‘I don’t know, Sobeck. It’s like watching the haze in the desert; it distorts and confuses, a veil which hides the truth whilst deceit clouds our judgement, yet I am sure that an invisible cord binds Meryre to the usurper.’

‘So why does he want to go on this embassy?’ Nebamun demanded. ‘Is it a pretext to make contact? To tell the usurper, this false Pharaoh, everything he knows about what’s happening and plotted in Thebes?’

‘Both,’ I replied. ‘I have been invited along as a guarantee, as an act of good faith for the rest of the Royal Circle in Thebes. Of course, once we get there no one knows what might happen. I would not be the first to die of marsh fever in the Delta.’ I shook my head. ‘I think that’s the truth, though there is something else I can’t grasp about this attack.’

‘But how did they know we were here?’ Sobeck sipped from his wine. ‘Oh, I know our flotilla could be glimpsed along the Nile, whilst our arrival here would be known to their spies. But the information that the Prince was actually in Colonel Nebamun’s house?’

‘I kept something back from Meryre.’ Nebamun moved a cushion to reveal a small polished coffer. He opened this and pulled out a piece of bloodstained papyrus. ‘We took this from one of the Hittite officers, a crude map, look!’ Nebamun traced the drawing with his finger. ‘The bend in the river, the shallows, the papyrus grove, the city and the small quayside below my house.’

The papyrus was stained and ragged, covered in signs and symbols I couldn’t understand.

‘It could be the work of Meryre,’ Nebamun continued, ‘a member of his entourage or indeed any one of their spies. We had spies in the Delta, much good they proved,’ he added grimly, ‘whilst the usurper must have spies in Memphis, the White-Walled City, the garrison-home of General Horemheb. Ah well,’ Nebamun smiled, ‘it is not all bad news. A courier arrived late last night.’

‘Yes?’ I asked expectantly.

‘Horemheb and Rameses are on the move. I have been ordered to prepare the Horus and Isis regiments.’

‘Did we make a mistake, Mahu?’ Sobeck asked. ‘Bringing the Prince here? Perhaps we should have not quartered all our mercenaries in the city but kept them down near the riverside?’

‘Of course I made mistakes,’ I snapped. ‘It’s like being in the Red Lands. Everything is masked by a haze. What is real? What is a mirage? Who’s telling the truth and who is lying? People like Meryre are hoping we will make a mistake. We are praying they will. They certainly made one this morning. They never reached this house in time. Colonel Nebamun, you are a soldier: how many battles are won or lost by luck, mere chance?’

The Colonel merely smiled. ‘I’ll have your mercenaries brought back,’ he promised. ‘The barracks will feed and provide for them. They can camp by the riverside.’

‘Why don’t we drag that priestly little turd from his chamber?’ Sobeck exclaimed. ‘Put him on trial, take his head and send it to the usurper as a present?’

‘Another mistake,’ I countered. ‘A high priest of Egypt formally executed without a proper trial? The usurper would love that. The Royal Circle would crumble, break up. Even Ay and Horemheb would ask by what authority I carried out such an act! Putting him under house arrest is bad enough. More importantly,’ I scratched my head, ‘Meryre has powerful supporters, amongst both the priests and certain elements of the army, not to mention those who just love to meddle, to stir the shit for the sake of the stink.’

‘So you’ll go no further?’ Nebamun asked. ‘You won’t journey north?’

‘How can we?’ I sighed. ‘I still don’t truly understand what Meryre wants. We are like a boat in a mist, or a traveller in a sand storm, merely blundering about.’

‘The Hittite confirmed one thing.’ Nebamun pushed away a silver-edged plate and sat cradling his wine cup. ‘I have heard stories, tales of cruelty about the rebel camp at Sile. How the invaders are practising the cruelties of the Hyksos invaders, torturing and burning people. I considered them wild rumours, but he mentioned a House of Darkness, a Field of Fire. I suspect the usurper is showing mercy and clemency to all who accept him and utter ruthlessness to those who don’t. No wonder our spies have achieved little success. Well.’ He made to rise. ‘All I can do is wait for fresh orders or the arrival of General Horemheb. What will you do, Lord Mahu?’

‘I don’t know.’

I rose to my feet, thanked Nebamun for his kindness and returned to my chamber with its cot bed and few chests. A stark chamber, a soldier’s room, with little ornamentation, though I found it restful enough. I slept for a while and rose late in the afternoon. I visited the Prince. He was now fast asleep. Djarka was squatting the other side of the bed, weaving a small basket, something he did whenever he was troubled or agitated. I took his writing tray out to the roof. The ground beyond the wall was still being searched by Nebamun’s troops, his soldiers dragging aside the undergrowth, looking for corpses or any of the invaders who might have crawled away. I squatted down even as a piercing screech rent the air. Another scream followed. I went to look. The soldiers had found two of the enemy wounded, dispatched them and were now dragging their corpses along the path.

I sat down with my back to the wall. In the script I had learnt in the House of Instruction as a Child of the Kap, I tried to make sense of the problem vexing me. First, the factions of the Royal Council were beginning to show themselves. Four groups in all: Ay and his granddaughter; Horemheb, Rameses and the military; the administrators like Maya and Huy; and the Atenists led by Meryre. And myself? Friend to all, ally to none. My allegiance was to the Prince. Secondly, a usurper, a false Pharaoh, had invaded the Delta, aided and abetted by the priests Khufu and Djoser. Thirdly, the usurper was supported by Hittite gold and silver, not to mention troops, as well as Egypt’s enemies in Canaan. Fourthly, the Royal Circle had been informed of the usurper’s invasion. Meryre’s offer to negotiate seemed a wise move by all accounts; it gave Horemheb and Rameses time to collect troops. Meryre had demanded my co-operation. Did the High Priest hope from the start that I’d bring the Prince and Ankhesenamun with me? Fifthly, at the same meeting of the Royal Circle, Meryre had protested how the members of the Aten cult were being secretly assassinated by the Shabtis of Akenhaten. Immediately after that meeting General Rahmose, one of Meryre’s most ardent supporters, was murdered. Sixthly, Ankhesenamun had implicated herself in Rahmose’s death, assuring me that she had forged an alliance with Meryre, probably with the connivance of Ay. So why the attack on me? A murderous assault which was intended to frighten rather than harm? Seventhly, on the day afterwards, Meryre demanded that his people be given shelter and protection at the powerful fortress of Buhen and that the Prince be moved for his own safety from the dangers threatening in Thebes. Eighthly, why didn’t the usurper march south? Why did he delay in the Delta? Ninthly, why the attack on Nebamun’s house? True, our flotilla had been noticed on the Nile, as had our landing at Memphis. But all this information could have been supplied by spies.

I placed the pen down and dabbed my finger in the black ink. Somewhere here lurked a great lie. Of course, it was all lies. Nevertheless, even lies have a logic all of their own; this did not.

‘Lord Mahu?’ Nebamun came up the steps and stood catching his breath. ‘We have more news. The enemy flotilla, some of them were seen two days ago, south of the White Walls.’

‘South?’ I exclaimed, placing the writing tray beside me. ‘You mean the barges sailed past Memphis, then came back to attack?’

‘According to the fishermen who brought the news. Didn’t you say your first destination was the City of the Aten?’

‘Yes, yes, I did.’

Nebamun spread his hands. ‘The news of the battle has spread all over the river. Fishermen came to see what had happened. Two of the barges were recognised. The fishermen said they saw them at least two days ago flying false standards and, undoubtedly, armed with forged passes which they destroyed before the attack was launched. An impudent, insolent gesture, but, Lord Mahu, who would dare to stop a bargeload of mercenaries? As I have said before, troops are moving up and down the river. Look at your escort. Some of them are Egyptian, the rest are mercenaries. At other times, in other places, they could have been fighting against us.’

I thanked him and returned to my own problems. Time and time again I went back over the list I had made. Eventually the mist of lies began to dissipate.

‘Ankhesenamun, you lying little bitch!’ I murmured. ‘Logic dictates you don’t control this game; others do.’

I went down to the small dining chamber, the most luxurious room in the house, with its high ceiling, gold-crowned columns, airy windows, its walls painted a rich dark blue. A servant had told me the Princess was there. She and Amedeta lounged on the dais at the far end, cushions piled about them, the table in front littered with plates of meat and fruit. They were feeding each other chunks of pomegranate, laughing and talking without a care in the world. Both had drunk deeply, eyes bright in faces flushed and wet with the perfume from their thick oiled wigs. I stopped before the dais and bowed.

‘My lady, I wish words with you.’

‘Which lady?’ Amedeta simpered.

‘My lady.’ I glared at Ankhesenamun. She pouted and made to protest. ‘My lady,’ I repeated.

‘Oh! If you are going to stand and glare so ferociously!’

Amedeta, giggling behind her fingers, staggered to her feet and left the chamber, swaying tipsily.

‘Well?’ Ankhesenamun lay back, allowing her robe to fall open, half exposing a painted nipple; her purple-tinted fingernails caressed this, then, dipping her fingers in the wine cup, she flicked drops at me.

‘My lady, tell me the truth.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Something you know little about.’

‘Baboon, you mock me.’

‘Would I dare?’

She leaned across. ‘Why, Mahu, why do you do all this? Why do you care?’

‘There’s nothing else,’ I retorted. ‘I am part of this. There is no other place for me to go, no other things to do.’

‘Is that the truth, baboon? Is it true that you loved my father and my mother? In the dazzling time before the Aatru … You know what that is?’

‘A fiery, blood-sucking serpent.’

‘Before the Aatru …’ Ankhesenamun, elbows resting on the table, seemed more interested in the fruit. She picked up a slice of melon. ‘Before the Aatru gobbled it up,’ she added drunkenly, ‘and spat it out in a breath of dry dust. Is that why you are really here, Baboon of the South, because you loved them?’

‘True, once I loved them both, as I have loved others.’

‘Oh, you mean Khiya the Mitanni monkey?’

‘Yes, my lady, your half-brother’s mother.’

‘Yes. Yes, quite.’ She moved the oil lamp forward as if to search my face more closely. ‘And now it’s Tutankhamun, isn’t it? My father, despite his drink and opiates, his frenetic madness, in the end entrusted his beloved son to you. Our Prince is a chain, isn’t he, which still binds you to my father? That,’ she smiled, ‘and the fact that Father might still be alive.’

‘If your mother didn’t murder him: that’s what you told me the other night, when Rahmose was murdered. But of course, you were lying, weren’t you?’

She straightened up, all signs of drunkenness vanished.

‘You said you were friends and allies with Meryre,’ I accused. ‘That you cultivated him, flattering him with your attentions. That’s true, isn’t it?’

Ankhesenamun stared unblinking back.

‘You told Meryre how the Shabtis of Akenhaten were controlled by me. You told me that you had a hand in Rahmose’s murder because he might reveal to Ay your involvement with Meryre.’ I leaned down. ‘That, my lady, is a lie.’

‘How dare you.’ Her hand fell to the fruit knife on the table. I seized her wrist.

‘Tell me it was a lie. I know it was a lie. My lady,’ I squeezed her wrist, ‘I nearly died today. I am in no mood for your games.’ I gripped her wrist harder. ‘I’ll break this, then you and I will be enemies. Now tell me the truth: you knew nothing about this attack. You are only a spectator, not the cause.’

Ankhesenamun winced with pain.

‘You became friends with Meryre on the orders of your grandfather?’

‘Yes!’ she gasped.

‘But you have learnt very little?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because Meryre knows that Ay stands behind you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But neither you nor your grandfather has anything to do with the Shabtis of Akenhaten. You and Ay are as mystified as I am, aren’t you?’

Ankhesenamun nodded.

‘And the murder of Rahmose? You had nothing to do with that?’

Again the nod.

‘So why did you lie? On the orders of Lord Ay?’ I released her wrist.

‘Because I am not a child,’ she hissed. ‘I wanted to impress! My grandfather is as puzzled as you. He fears the usurper. He fears Meryre’s power with the Atenists. He is frightened of Horemheb, not to mention Huy and Maya. He needs time to consolidate.’

‘We need to survive,’ I retorted, stepping down from the dais. ‘Goodnight, my lady. Do remember,’ I added, ‘your arrogance misled me and nearly cost us everything.’

‘Mahu?’ Ankhesenamun was now smiling through her tears, nursing her wrist. ‘We are still friends? We should meet again,’ she continued. ‘I do like to be disciplined by the Baboon of the South.’

‘My lady, goodnight.’

I met Sobeck and Djarka in the small antechamber next to the Prince’s bedroom; two of my mercenaries guarded the door.

‘Listen,’ I began, ‘I am sure this is the truth, or some of it: we have walked into a trap of Meryre’s making. No!’ I gestured for silence. ‘Horemheb, Rameses, Maya and the rest, including the lord Ay, want the dream of the Aten cult forgotten as quickly as possible. Meryre is different. He has exploited the mystery of Akenhaten’s true fate, as well as Egyptian troubles in Canaan and the Hittite dreams of empire. He and this usurper, the false Pharaoh, are close allies, though I have no proof of this, just as I have no evidence that Meryre is responsible for the Shabtis of Akenhaten.’

‘Impossible!’ Sobeck exclaimed.

‘No, they are assassins who act on his orders. I suspect he uses them to remove members of his own party whom he doesn’t trust. More importantly, he feeds and fans the flames of fear and disquiet. Somehow he and this usurper share the same dream, the same vision. To put it succinctly, Ankhesenamum had no part in the assassination of Rahmose; that was carried out on Meryre’s orders. Perhaps he didn’t trust Rahmose. Perhaps the old general was not as ardent in his support as he should have been. More importantly, Meryre wanted a sacrificial victim. The fact that Rahmose was wearing my striped robe is neither here nor there; he was marked down for death. The gardener who carried out the attack was a secret Atenist. If we make careful enquiries we would learn that he worked once in the City of the Aten, probably in the Great Temple there. He was a member of Meryre’s faction. He carried out murders for him, for which he was paid in gold, silver or precious stones. On the morning of Rahmose’s murder, Meryre and his entourage entered the palace grounds. Meryre dispatched a priest to meet his agent the gardener.’

‘And the priest was also sacrificed?’

‘Of course. Meryre can then proclaim that no sooner had he entered the palace than one of his retinue was murdered and his place taken by a man bent on a second murder, the destruction of Lord Rahmose. Meryre also ensured that someone in the palace blocked that door so that the assassin couldn’t escape. He was meant to be killed. Meryre needed to prove the assassin was not a member of his entourage so he could point the finger of blame elsewhere.’

‘And the attack on you?’ Sobeck asked.

‘Later that day a member of Meryre’s coven — and he must have such in the palace — arranged for the pile of laundry to be taken to my chamber with snakes hidden in the basket. On that same night a servant was dispatched with strict orders to take the laundry out of the basket.’ I shrugged. ‘You know how the palace servants are. If you give them an order to throw precious goblets into the Nile they will do so. Why should they suspect any danger or treachery? And so the damage is done. Meryre can point out that the city of Thebes, not even the Palace of Malkata, is safe for him or the servants of our Prince.’

‘And so he demands the fortress at Buhen.’ Djarka smiled. ‘And the removal of the Prince to the City of the Aten?’

‘He also knows the Royal Circle will agree,’ Sobeck added. ‘They wanted Meryre to go north. They knew you would travel with him. Meryre’s request that the Prince accompany you to the City of the Aten seems logical enough.’

‘For a while,’ I replied, ‘Meryre had his way. He made no mistakes. He didn’t mean for the Prince to be killed. The attack this morning wasn’t really intended to be carried out here, but at the City of the Aten. Flying false colours, armed with forged letters, those barges would have landed their troops in a half-deserted city.’ I pulled a face. ‘We would have been killed, but the Prince, Ankhesenamun, Meryre and his entourage would have been abducted.’

Sobeck whistled in disbelief.

‘And what then?’

‘Meryre would have had the best of both worlds,’ I replied. ‘He could claim that he was being held captive, whilst the usurper possessed Egypt’s legitimate ruler. Once that happened, the usurper would have marched south, collecting troops on the way. They would have been able to display our young Prince as the true head of their forces. Meryre would provoke uprisings in various towns and cities-’

‘Whilst my lord Ay,’ Sobeck intervened, ‘not to mention Horemheb and Rameses, would have been distracted by these uprisings as well as the revolt which would certainly have occurred at Buhen.’

‘I agree. Buhen is the gateway to Nubia. The princes of Kush would be only too willing to rise in revolt in return for promises of more rights and privileges: more independence, greater freedom from Thebes. Horemheb is a shrewd general,’ I added, ‘or thinks he is. Which way would he have turned? To the north, or to Buhen in the south? Not to mention the uprisings in between.’

‘We should kill Meryre,’ Djarka declared. ‘Claim he suffered an accident or fell ill.’

‘Leave him for the while,’ I disagreed. ‘What we need to do is to find out the true strength of the usurper. Tomorrow morning, Djarka, I will leave Memphis. I’ll crop my hair.’ I grinned. ‘I’ll ask Sobeck to give me a few bruises and cuts. I’ll travel north to Sile and offer my services.’

‘You could be recognised.’

‘They won’t expect me,’ I retorted. ‘I’ll change my appearance. I know what I am looking for. We cannot trust anyone else. We’ll tell no one except Colonel Nebamun. You, Djarka, will remain and guard the Prince and the Lady Ankhesenamun, even though she’s a lying bitch who tried to claim responsibility for everything.’

‘And me?’ Sobeck asked.

I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You have a choice, my friend. You can stay here with Djarka or you can come with me! In the meantime I am going to sow a little confusion of my own. Meryre and his retinue will be kept under house arrest. He will wonder where I have gone.’

‘And this confusion?’ Djarka asked.

‘I’ll tell him I’ll swim with the surge of the river and, for a proper consideration, I may even change sides.’