The Season of the Hyaena

Chapter 8

Horemheb listened to the reports from his officers.

‘At least twenty,’ the standard-bearer declared. ‘The usurper, his woman, the two priests, Djoser and Khufu, and Prince Aziru, escorted by Hittite officers, left the fortress early. Scouts saw them heading due east.’

‘The Horus Road,’ I intervened. ‘They’ll take the Horus Road across the Sinai. They are hoping to flee back to Canaan to plot again.’

‘And what do you advise?’ Horemheb demanded.

‘That we pursue and kill them.’ I pointed to a line of horses being taken away. ‘Your mounts are exhausted, they need food, water and rest, and so do we.’

Horemheb wiped the sweat from his face. ‘They left the battle early?’

‘They never struck a blow,’ the standard-bearer confirmed. ‘One of the Hittite captains is very bitter; he believes they were deserted.’

‘I can well understand that,’ Horemheb replied. He walked forward, staring out over the plain, oblivious to the groans and moans coming from the lines of prisoners and the war cries and cheers of his own men.

‘We trapped them near the river, my lord Mahu,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘The dead are piled five or six deep there, the waters tinged with blood. Oh! I mustn’t forget.’ He called across a herald. ‘Tell the men to be careful: the crocodiles and other night prowlers will feast well tonight. Now,’ he pointed to the entrance of the palisade leading to the Field of Fire, ‘show me this.’

We took him in. Horemheb later confessed to me that, despite the blood-spilling, bitter conflict he had just won, never had a place provoked such a sense of horror. He advanced towards the Mastaba, climbed the ramp and listened to the roar of the savage beasts within.

‘I am tempted,’ he declared, walking back to where his officers and I waited, fearful of those blood-curdling growls, ‘to take the Hittite commanders and thrust them through that trap-door.’ His harsh face creased into a smile. ‘But we never know how fortune may turn: one day Egyptian officers may be taken prisoner.’

Horemheb promptly ordered archers to bring scaling ladders, remove the trap-door and loose arrow after arrow into the darkness. The roars and growling were fearsome; as one archer became exhausted, another took his place. The beasts within, maddened and hungry, flung themselves at the doorway, making easy targets. Darkness was falling when the captain of archers pronounced both beasts dead. Horemheb ordered the door to be broken down. Torches were brought, and those who dared followed their general into the foul-smelling interior.

Although the Mastaba looked large from the outside, it housed only a passageway leading into a grim square chamber. Bones and human remains, globules of fat and flesh, caked floor and walls. The place reeked like a charnel house. Two of Nebamun’s officers had to leave to be sick. Horemheb inspected both the chamber and the lions; these were the African kind, huge and powerful black-maned beasts. We could tell from the wounds on their hides that they had been turned into man-eaters, possibly because they had been injured by hunters and found humans easier prey than the fleet-footed gazelles. If anyone ever asks me, ‘Have you visited the Halls of the Underworld, the Place of the Scavengers?’ I always answer that I have. Now, years later, when I have nightmares, that chamber in the Mastaba comes back to haunt me, with its brooding aura of unspoken horror, of cruel death and torture.

Horemheb ordered the place to be fired. Oil skins were emptied, flooding the floor; brushwood, anything which could burn, was thrown in. The same happened to the Field of Fire. The stakes were knocked down, the entire ground soaked in oil, into which the archers loosed fiery shafts. The night was lit up by roaring flames and clouds of smoke. The fortress too was levelled, its bothies and tents now cleared of all plunder. Once their right hands had been severed, the enemy dead were thrown on to the fire.

A gruesome, fearful night of fire and smoke. All sound was drowned by the roar of the flames. The destruction continued until the early hours. Horemheb seemed to have forgotten those who had fled. He had his great camp chair brought into the pool of light from the fires and held a summary court-martial of the prisoners. I, as a member of the Royal Circle, sat on his right, with Colonel Nebamun on his left. The Hittite officers were brought first. Horemheb asked for their defence. Why had they invaded the land of Egypt? Of course they could only reply that they were mercenaries hired by the usurper.

‘In which case,’ Horemheb declared, ‘you are no better than outlaws and pirates.’

He ordered their execution by decapitation, and the men were hustled away into the darkness. Soon after came the hideous sound of the falling axe as it smote through necks, cutting into the log on which they had to place their heads. Horemheb then dealt with the other prisoners. Any Egyptian was condemned immediately as a traitor and a rebel; they were to be dispatched to Sile, Avaris and the other cities of the Nile to be executed and hung upside down in chains above the city gates. Some of the other nationalities were to be executed; the rest would serve as slaves in the mines and quarries of Egypt.

Horemheb paused now and again for food or wine. My limbs began to ache. I felt cold. I wanted to sleep. Horemheb, however, was not only a general but an expert on military law; he was insistent that justice be done quickly and ruthlessly as a warning to every other rebel. At the same time his officers were busy in the camp enforcing discipline, putting drunkards under arrest, taking the women they had found into the slave pens and demanding, on pain of death, that all booty be handed over. A makeshift altar to Amun-Ra had been set up, surrounded by Horemheb’s standards, and through the night the mound of severed hands grew higher. The place reeked of smoke, blood and burning flesh.

Once Horemheb announced himself satisfied, he turned and gestured at the leather bag Sobeck was jealously guarding.

‘My lord Mahu, I said all plunder.’

‘My lord Horemheb,’ I replied. ‘If we may have a word in private?’

Groaning and muttering, he pushed himself up from his chair. He wiped his face and washed his hands in natron and water, though he still remained smeared with blood, streaks of sweat marking his dusty face. Horemheb, at peace, was not the most easy of men, but when the blood lust of battle was upon him, he was truculent and dangerous. He had imposed his will on the imperial army, his men regarded him as a God, and the stream of orders he had given as we sat in judgement on the prisoners had been accepted without protest. The mound of plunder was at least two yards high and about five yards across. It comprised chairs, tables, gleaming cabinets, couches and beds, personal jewellery, precious jars, skins full of wine and pots of spices. Horemheb grunted in satisfaction and, gesturing at me, left the place of judgement to stand some distance away from his entourage.

‘My lord Mahu, you have difficulty with my orders?’

‘My lord Horemheb, do you have difficulty with mine? May I remind you I am a member of the Royal Circle? I am official Protector of the Crown Prince, an imperial envoy.’

‘You don’t look it!’

‘What I look and what I am, General, are two different things. I am your equal, not some junior officer.’

‘The leather bag?’ Horemheb snarled, pushing his face closer. ‘You left the battle to search for it, I understand?’

‘I am the Chief of Police of Eastern and Western Thebes, my lord General. My writ runs from the Delta south to beyond the Third Cataract. I too, am a Child of the Kap, a member of the Royal Council, adviser to the Prince. You have won a great victory today in which I too played a part. I discovered the usurper to be just that. I gauged the enemy strength and gave that information to you. I judged Meryre was a traitor and should be confined. If he had continued his journey north, only the Gods know what would have happened to me, or indeed, to you. Now what I found in the usurper’s tent is not my property or your property but that of the Royal Circle. I shall not let it go.’

‘I could kill you,’ Horemheb whispered through the darkness. ‘I could kill you now.’ His hand fell to the bronze dagger in its elaborate sheath. ‘Or I could put you on trial.’

‘Do so, General, and there will be those in Thebes only too quick to point out how you usurped your power. If you kill one of the Royal Circle, my lord,’ I stepped closer, ‘why not kill the rest? I am sure God’s Father Ay and his brother Nakhtimin have been very busy in Thebes. Let me guess! I suspect they have been raising fresh regiments. They can’t control yours at Memphis, but God’s Father Ay will ensure that within the year there are two armies: one of Upper and one of Lower Egypt. Kill me, General, and it would start a civil war.’

Horemheb stood, hands on hips, staring at the sky, the very pose he used to adopt in the House of Instruction when he was wondering whether to hit someone or not.

‘Do you believe I am a traitor, Mahu?’

‘Why no, General, of course not. I found none of your letters in the usurper’s archives.’

‘I am sure you didn’t. What did you find, Mahu, you cunning baboon? Trust you in the heat of battle to think of documents.’

‘Let me put it this way, General. Those documents are no threat to you. You have your regiments to protect you.’

‘And you have your papers.’ Horemheb smiled. ‘Mahu, we are friends, aren’t we?’

‘And allies,’ I added cheerily.

Horemheb snorted with laughter. ‘I heard what you did to Meryre. You should hold on to your leather sack, Mahu. My lord Ay and other members of the Royal Circle are moving up to Memphis. They’ll move a little quicker when they hear the news of our great victory; they’ll wish to reflect and bask in its glory. You are correct about Lord Ay: he and his brother Nakhtimin, and the rest, are busy raising regiments. There are already two: the Glory of Kush and the Power of Ra. They are building new granaries outside Thebes and every member of the Akhmin gang is being given posts of power in the Houses of Life, the temples.’ He waved his hands. ‘Or whatever.’

‘Huy and Maya?’

‘They are with Lord Ay, body and soul.’

‘And at Buhen?’ I demanded. ‘Tutu and the rest?’

‘I don’t know. There’s been some unrest in Kush, but once the news of this victory seeps out, I suspect Meryre and the Atenists will either flee or take poison. You have enough in that leather sack, haven’t you, to send them to the slaughter yard?’

‘They are traitors,’ I replied. ‘Do you know how they did it? Meryre was such an eager proselytiser for the cult of Aten, he sent statues of the Sun Disc across Sinai as gifts to the princes of Canaan. He even had the impudence, under the guise of his office, to send similar statues to the Hittite court.’

‘And?’ Horemheb demanded.

‘Oh, let me finish, General. Statues from Egypt’s High Priest are sacred; no border guard would interfere with them.’

Horemheb opened his mouth. ‘Of course!’ He struck the heel of his hand against his forehead. ‘Meryre’s person is sacred, and the same goes for his gifts.’

‘The statues were hollow,’ I explained. ‘They were made in the temple workshops at the City of the Aten, fashioned to contain a roll of parchment, not necessarily written by Meryre, but by one of his scribes. I have yet to read the entire collection, but he gives information about the disposition of troops, the level of supplies in granaries, the quality of the harvest …’

‘And the situation in Thebes? Keep your leather sack,’ Horemheb growled. He gripped me by the shoulder. ‘How the wheel turns, eh, Mahu? Do you remember when we were Children in the Kap and we used to squabble over a piece of bread smeared with honey or a ripe date in sesame oil?’

‘The only thing that’s changed, General,’ I replied, ‘is that what we squabble over now are matters of life and death.’

‘Will you go tomorrow?’ Horemheb asked. ‘I am dispatching Nebamun and his squadron after the usurper. Will you accompany them, my lord Mahu, and bring the bastard back? Dead or alive, I don’t give a damn.’

I promised I would. I wanted to be away from the place of slaughter. I was also beginning to feel faint and weary from lack of sleep and food. I went back to collect Sobeck and we both retreated, away from the camp and into the palm groves which separated the plain from the small market town. I was too exhausted to answer Sobeck’s questions but seized a cloak from someone and, rolling myself up, fell into the deepest sleep.

Sobeck woke me the next morning. He had found a pot of fire and was now cooking a meal: dried strips of meat on a makeshift grill, some overripe vegetables, and bread from the army bakers. We ate hungrily, sharing a jug of beer, staring out at the devastation before us. Horemheb’s army occupied the plain. Most of the camp was still asleep; only the occasional fire glowed, pinpricks of light in that half-waking time between night and day. I felt stiff; my knees and ankles groaned in protest. When Nebamun’s herald came calling our names, I found it difficult to stagger to my feet. The Colonel was on the other side of the camp, seated on a three-legged stool, a barber shaving his face and head. A short distance away the squadron was preparing to leave. The chariots had been cleaned, the horses groomed, even the harness polished.

Nebamun had dispensed with his armour. He was dressed in a simple white robe, sandals on his feet. He grinned up at us, telling the barber to stop his chatter.

‘It will be hot along the Horus Road. I am taking sixty chariots and a change of horses; some of the chariots will carry water and food as well as extra archers. We are leaving within the hour. Oh, by the way, you look dreadful. But,’ he squinted at me, ‘as Lord Horemheb has reminded me, you are a member of the Royal Circle, Lord Mahu. I am to take my orders from you.’

I was too exhausted to engage in any banter and was relieved when we left the camp, following the broad Horus Road out of the Delta and into the deserts of Sinai. Sobeck drove the chariot, that precious leather bag tied securely to a clasp near his feet. I hung grimly to the rail, watching the broad sandy road beneath us change colour under the strengthening sun. The heat became so intense that each chariot used a parasol or awning against the glare of the sun. They say the demons live in the Sinai; I can well believe it. Nothing but a broad stretch of rock and hillock, all burning under a fiery sun. No breeze, and when one did rise, it brought clouds of dust and sand. We passed the occasional oasis, its palm trees black against the sky. The heat so oppressed the eye that by midday the blinding whiteness played tricks with your sight. The road was deserted. There’s nothing like the clash of armies to make merchants and traders decide to shelter wherever they can and hide till the crisis has passed.

We stopped at some lonely oasis to fill our water skins, sitting on the walls the Great Pharaoh, Tuthmosis IV, had built around the precious well. At first I thought Horemheb had made a mistake, until we found evidence of the usurper’s flight: discarded boxes, coffers and weapons. Two of their entourage must have been wounded, for their corpses, half eaten by night prowlers, lay in the shade of some rocks. We sheltered from the noonday heat and continued our pursuit. Nebamun reasoned that our horses were fresh and well provisioned. The usurper, however, despite his hours’ start, was totally dependent on what he had taken from the battlefield and his fortress. A group of sand-dwellers told us how they had caught sight of Egyptians but had not drawn too close.

We rested that night in an oasis, Nebamun sending out scouts. For the first time since I had found the records in the usurper’s tent, I was able to scrutinise the contents of that sack. The more I read, the more my heart glowed. Meryre and his faction were traitors, hand in glove with the usurper, Prince Aziru and his confederates, not to mention the Hittite court. There were other items, which I vowed to keep close to my heart. One of these did fascinate me: a piece of gold, thin and delicate, showing Pharaoh Akenhaten receiving the rays of the sun. Akenhaten, dressed in the Royal regalia, had his face turned towards the sun, hands welcoming the life-giving rays. At first I thought it was a brooch or some form of pendant, though I could find no hole or clasp. I took it closer to the fire. I am an expert on the work of goldsmiths, and in calmer days loved to go down to their workshops in Thebes or the City of the Aten and watch them work. Each craftsman has his own sign, his own way of working, yet the more I studied this piece, the more intrigued I became.

‘When would you say this was made?’ I handed it to Sobeck, who had been squatting on the other side of the fire, half watching me whilst keeping an eye on Nebamun’s men lest anyone approached too close. He took the piece of gold, turning it over and over.

‘I’d say it might be Egyptian,’ he remarked. ‘Have you noticed it’s the same on either side? It’s not a pendant or brooch. It could be a gift.’

‘And?’ I asked.

‘The carving is singular. The gold is very thin. I am not too sure if it is Egyptian. I have seen similar gold work,’ he grinned, ‘being sold rather secretly in the markets of Eastern Thebes. I’d say it was Canaanite made to look as if it’s Egyptian. Canaanite work is thinner, not as elaborate or as thick as the workshops of Thebes or Memphis.’

He handed the gold back. I placed it in the sack, tying its neck securely.

‘If something should happen to me …’

‘You don’t trust General Horemheb?’ Sobeck demanded.

‘If something should happen to me,’ I continued, ‘keep this leather sack, Sobeck. Share its contents with Djarka. He’ll know how to use it, as will you, to protect the Prince.’

I gazed up at the stars and listened to the roars of the hyaenas and the other stalkers of the night, drawn to our camp fire by the smells.

‘You found something which interests you?’

‘Well, of course, but what really intrigues me,’ I tapped the sack, ‘is that these documents make constant reference to one member of the Royal Circle I had almost forgotten about. Oh, Horemheb and Rameses are mentioned, naturally; they are soldiers. Nakhtimin and Ay? Well, I’ll deal with these later; the same goes for Maya and Huy. However, Meryre makes one constant reference which is picked up by the priests, Khufu and Djoser.’

‘About what?’ Sobeck asked impatiently.

‘Think of the Children of the Kap, Sobeck. You were raised with us. Who keeps in the shadows? Quiet during meetings, away from the hustle and bustle of the court?’

Sobeck stared back in puzzlement.

‘Pentju,’ I whispered. ‘Pentju, Royal Physician to Akenhaten. Friend of the Lady Khiya, Tutankhamun’s mother. Guardian of the Prince as a child before he handed him over to me. Pentju was never a politician; the great physician was more concerned with his wealthy patients and his treasure hoard.’

‘He is the Quiet One,’ Sobeck agreed. ‘We know his beloved wife and children all died during the plague or shortly afterwards. In fact, scarcely any member of his family remains. Well, what does Meryre say about him?’

‘He says he’d love to have Pentju with him in this embassy. He promised to do his level best to include Pentju in our journey north. Now, that’s something I never knew.’

‘Does he see him as an ally?’ Sobeck asked.

‘I have to study the documents more closely,’ I replied. ‘However, the impression I get is that Pentju is important because of what he knows rather than what he does. Isn’t that strange? I wonder what our noble physician knows that is so valuable?’

Two days later we caught up with the fleeing rebels. They had left a trail of corpses, abandoned goods and weapons and soon realised their pursuers were closing on them. The Sinai is a bleak wilderness; leave the Horus Road and the well-beaten tracks and you would die in the desert heat. Of course they resisted. They fortified an outcrop of rocks but they were short of water and weapons. Nebamun’s men loosed one shaft after another, distracting the rebels whilst others moved up behind, gaining the higher ground. Our chariot squadron watched and waited below. The rebels survived that afternoon and the following night but the noonday heat forced them to ask for terms. Nebamun was uncompromising: unconditional surrender or he would simply lay siege until, as he put it, their hearts fried and their bodies were reduced to dry skin. They threw their weapons down and came out of the rocks, no longer the power and the glory but a pathetic group of dirty, dishevelled men and women.

‘What shall we do?’ Nebamun whispered.

‘You have your orders,’ I replied. ‘Carry them out!’

The Hittite officers were promptly executed, as were the captains of the mercenaries. I immediately seized the impostor and his woman, together with their chaplain Khufu, and Prince Aziru. I went searching for Djoser and found him in a small gully beyond the rocky outcrop, face grey, eyes awaiting death, clutching the arrow wound in his chest.

‘Who are you?’ His tongue was clasped between dry lips. ‘Water?’ he begged.

I allowed him to sip from the skin I carried.

‘Who are you?’ he repeated.

‘Don’t you remember, Djoser? Mahu, Chief of Police in the City of the Aten!’

He coughed, a bloody froth staining his lips.

‘Well, well. Once upon a time, Mahu, we all basked in the sun, didn’t we? Lords of the earth.’

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘Why not?’ he taunted back. ‘Better that than bend the knee to the Akhmin gang, or that burly peasant Horemheb.’ He coughed and spluttered.

I made him more comfortable. From below I could hear the screams of the women.

‘I am glad I’m dying,’ Djoser whispered. ‘I don’t want to be part of Horemheb’s victory parade.’ He clutched the water skin again and took another slurp, splashing it over his face.

‘Did the Lord Akenhaten die?’ I demanded.

‘I don’t know.’ Djoser coughed.

‘And his treasure?’

‘Meryre knows about that. Some in Egypt, most taken away.’

‘Who is behind this?’ I asked. ‘The cause, the fount and origin?’

‘Cause, fount, origin?’ Djoser leaned his head back and, pulling himself up, broke the shaft of the arrow and tossed the broken end away. ‘It doesn’t ease the pain,’ he grated, ‘but at least it’s something to do.’

‘Are you all right, sir?’ I waved away the soldier who had come up behind me to see if all was well.

‘The cause?’ I asked.

‘Meryre. He had dreams of becoming Pharaoh’s First Minister, Grand Vizier or, who knows, Pharaoh himself. He thought you might join him. He certainly wanted Pentju; he prayed for that.’

‘But you all supported the usurper?’

Djoser leaned forward. ‘Usurper? And what are you supporting, Lord Mahu?’ He coughed and gagged on his blood, then the light in his eyes dimmed and he fell back with a sigh.

I left the corpse amongst the rocks and joined the chariot squadron. Nebamun had executed the officers but decided that the rest, nothing more than common foot soldiers and mercenaries, together with their women, should be given water skins. He pointed into the distance, where the heat haze shifted and buckled and the dust devils blew clouds up against the sky.

‘Walk!’ he ordered. ‘And if the Gods are with you, you will live!’

His men drove them off; I turned to the other four prisoners. Aziru had tried to disguise himself, hiding his oily hair and fat body under a coarse striped robe. He, like the rest, was now tied by his hands to my chariot wheel. Sobeck, crouching beside them, drank his water but offered them none.

‘I am a prince.’ Aziru tried to rise; Sobeck punched him in the ribs. ‘I am a prince.’ Aziru lowered his head to remove the hair from his eyes. ‘I was once Egypt’s ally.’

‘You are a rebel and a traitor.’ I smiled down at him. ‘You have fomented trouble and rebellion. You take to mischief as a fish to swimming.’

I looked at the other prisoners. The woman’s face was concealed by flaming red hair. Next to her, bereft of all his finery, the usurper looked what he really was, a pathetic pretender with not even a passing resemblance to my great lord. Khufu was blubbering like a child; the lower part of his tunic was wet with urine. I cut his bonds and pulled him up.

‘Do you know who I am?’ I pushed him towards Nebamun’s curious charioteers, who’d been watching the mercenaries trudging off into the distance. Now they hoped I would provide further sport.

‘Lord Mahu.’ Khufu’s soft, round face creased into a suppliant smile. ‘My lord Mahu, you remember me? I was a chapel priest in the Great Temple of the Aten. I served in the Holy of Holies.’

‘And now you serve a rebel!’ I pulled him by his coarse robe. ‘Colonel Nebamun, have you found any treasure?’ I called over.

‘Nothing much,’ he replied. ‘Trinkets, personal possessions.’

‘The treasure?’ I demanded of Khufu. ‘My great lord’s treasure, it was pillaged and taken out of the City of the Aten.’

‘I truly don’t know.’ Khufu raised his hands. ‘My lord, I did not leave the City of the Aten immediately but joined the rest much later. Undoubtedly,’ he gabbled on, ‘the treasure was taken. They say it was divided and is now in Canaan.’

‘What?’ I pushed him out of earshot. ‘Do you want to die, Khufu? Do you want me to peg you out like a lion skin on the desert floor?’

This dirty, unshaven, smelly priest began to shake so violently I though he was having a fit. I slapped him on the face and roared at one of Nebamun’s men to bring a wine skin. I forced open Khufu’s mouth and made him take two or three gulps. His trembling stopped.

‘I can tell you more, my lord,’ he blinked, ‘but not here. I am a priest. If I was given consideration …’

‘I’ll tell you what.’ I clicked my fingers and demanded a parasol to protect me from the sun. ‘You, Khufu, shall be my prisoner. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll even arrange for your release. Exile to some pleasant little village.’

Hope flared in those greedy little eyes.

‘On one condition: you tell me what I want to know.’

Khufu fell to his knees, clutching at my ankles, head banging against my legs as he promised to be my devoted slave. I kicked him aside and turned to the impostors. The woman was no beauty despite her resplendent hair so reminiscent of Nefertiti, the haunter of my heart: a rather coarse face beneath the paint, with slanted green eyes and full voluptuous lips now cracked and bleeding. Nebamun’s men had been poking and prodding her, and she’d screamed back; now she was not so defiant. I crouched down between her and the usurper.

‘It is finished,’ I whispered. ‘You know it is. So you had best tell me who you really are and why you are here.’

The woman, casting hateful glances at Aziru, began to chatter. I told her to shut up and forced back the man’s head. He was balding, with high cheekbones and lightly sunken cheeks; his bony, angular body was now stripped of all its finery. I noticed tattoo marks on his arms and chest.

‘You’re Babylonian?’

The man nodded, his small, dark eyes fearful; he had a slight cast in one. He and his so-called Queen were easy to break, both gabbling together, wanting to please, hoping to be shown some mercy. Now and again Aziru tried to protest, but I slapped him quiet and listened intently to the usurper. Both he and his Queen were Babylonians by birth, wandering musicians and actors who had come to the attention of Prince Aziru. They had been drawn into his plot, given the dress and ornaments of Pharaoh and schooled in the ways of the imperial Egyptian court. After that they had become the standard around which all the rest of the rebels had gathered, being visited by Hittite dignitaries and envoys. I learned that the rebel army had been financed by Aziru’s allies in Canaan with gold and silver bullion dispatched by the Hittite court. In truth, the pair were nothing more than puppets, who had revelled in their moment of glory and power. The more they chattered and gabbled, the more I became aware of how Aziru, now bound silently beside them, was the moving spirit behind all that had happened. A man who dreamed of throwing off Egyptian rule and proclaiming himself king in Canaan. He wanted to bind its tribes together with a vision of being one kingdom, Egypt’s peer and equal, playing off one great power against another: the Babylonians, the Hittites, the Mitanni, the Egyptians. It also became apparent that, apart from their charades, this precious pair knew very little. I handed them over to Nebamun’s men to guard and pushed Aziru into my chariot, binding his wrist to the rails. The squadron reformed, and leaving the dead to rot under the sun, we made our way back to the camp.

Sobeck rode in the chariot beside me, Khufu crouching at his feet, hands and feet bound. Aziru was different. He showed no fear, and in return for petty courtesies, such as the occasional mouthful of wine or water, he talked seriously about what had happened. Despite the heat and dust, the numbing sense of weakness and exhaustion from the events of the last two days, I was fascinated by his confession.

‘Did you plan the attack on Memphis?’ I asked.

Aziru nodded.

‘Did Meryre know of it?’

‘No, no.’ Aziru steadied himself as the chariot lurched. ‘That was my decision. We knew you were coming north and would leave the Prince at the City of the Aten. So I sent bargeloads of mercenaries to lie in wait. It was easy enough. The captains were provided with false letters of commission. They were to pretend they were mercenaries journeying to Thebes to reinforce some garrison along the Nile.’

‘You know the attack failed?’

Aziru glanced at me and smiled.

‘Yes, yes. Our men were told to watch your flotilla carefully and seize their chance. Apparently you did not stop at the City of the Aten but journeyed direct to the outskirts of Memphis. The commander of our flotilla must have thought there was a chance of achieving his task, though if I had been there I would have counselled against it. Memphis is a garrison city, isn’t it? Too dangerous, far too dangerous. Ah well!’

‘And these letters and proclamations?’ I asked. ‘You were in possession of Pharaoh Akenhaten’s seal, his cartouche?’

‘We had the contents of his writing office.’ Aziru laughed. ‘Some of his scribes, when they fled the City of the Aten, took everything they could lay their hands on. It was they who gave me the idea, one I shared with the Hittite court.’ He threw his head back and laughed. ‘And now you see the results.’

‘Did Meryre tell you that we were coming north?’ I asked.

‘Meryre? No.’ Aziru shook his head. ‘Your friend Sobeck informed me of how you had seized our records during the battle. You must know, my lord Mahu, who truly informed us that you were coming.’

‘Did that person tell you directly?’

Aziru’s smile faded and he shook his head. ‘Find out for yourself,’ he muttered. ‘But at some time or other, my lord Mahu, as well you know, everybody in the city of Thebes dispatched letters north to me. Some were defiant, others, how can I put it, more diplomatic and probing. You wouldn’t say they were traitors.’ He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘But you could see they were thinking about it.’

‘And what was your plan?’

‘To hold the Delta and advance south. The only reason we didn’t is that we were fearful of the garrison at Memphis. Khufu and Djoser had described Horemheb; that’s where we made our mistake.’ He added bitterly, ‘Do tell the good general, if I had my way we would have assassinated him and his dark shadow, Rameses.’

‘You’ll expect no mercy?’ I asked.

Aziru shrugged. ‘I have thrown the dice and I have lost. I’ll try to bargain for my life, but there again, I won’t beg. I am not like Khufu the priest. I won’t wet myself and spoil your chariot.’

‘And the treasure?’ I asked. ‘Rumours abound that Pharaoh Akenhaten’s treasure, or at least part of it, disappeared from the City of the Aten.’

‘I know nothing of that,’ Aziru declared. ‘But I’ll tell you what I did. I sat in my palace, I watched and listened. I learned how the Great Pharaoh of Egypt was lost in his own religious dreams, how he would not send troops across the Sinai, so I thought I’d pipe a tune for all of us to dance to. It wasn’t hard playing one chief off against another, one petty prince being drawn into a blood feud with his neighbour. The Hittites, too, became interested. Like men watching a dog fight, they drew closer and eventually wanted to place wagers. Matters quickened. We heard your Pharaoh was dead, buried in his strange city; how his wife had attempted a coup but failed. I was joined by Khufu and Djoser; others drifted to my court. Meryre in Egypt assured us of his support.’ He shrugged. ‘And the rest you know. If Fortune had not been so fickle, you would have been in my chariot bound hand and foot, the heads of Horemheb and Nebamun perched on poles. But as for your Pharaoh and his treasure?’ He shook his head. ‘I know nothing of them.’

He chattered on as if we were old comrades discussing tactics. He laughed when I told him how Sobeck and I had entered his camp as mercenaries and fooled Captain Usurek.

‘You were lucky,’ he replied. ‘If I had known about that, I would have questioned you more closely.’

I was intrigued by Aziru: small and fat, to all intents and appearances an effete Canaan prince, with his curled hair and beard still smelling faintly of perfume and oil, his plump cheeks, small black eyes and woman’s mouth. Yet he was tougher than he looked, his heart as sly as any I had met. He was also curious, asking questions about the Prince Tutankhamum and the Princess Ankhesenamun; these two had created divisions between Aziru and his Egyptian allies.

‘What we intended,’ he confessed, ‘was to humiliate the power of Egypt. To defeat its armies in open battle, sack its cities, plunder its temples.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Or at least some of them. Teach the land of Egypt a lesson it would never forget. Stir up rebellion in Kush. Draw in the Libyans.’

‘And then?’ I asked.

‘Demand that Egypt withdraw completely from Canaan and recognise our right to determine our own future; to make alliances and treaties with whomever we please. To be free of tribute and taxes, of sending hostages and goods into the ever-full belly of Thebes.’

‘And in Egypt itself?’ I asked.

‘That did not concern us. There was no visible heir except for the young boy. The Hittites hoped for civil war, that Egypt would divide from within.’

I reined in the chariot. ‘So you had no ambition about who would wear the Two Crowns?’

‘What did it matter to us?’ Aziru sneered. ‘We’d support the temple dancers as long as they were useful. Meryre nursed a great dream. Isn’t it true in the history of your people,’ he stared directly at me, ‘that a high priest became Pharaoh? Meryre had visions of marrying the Princess Ankhesenamun!’

‘And Tutankhamun?’ I asked.

Aziru steadied himself with his hands. ‘Mahu, cut my bonds! I am not going to jump down.’

I slowed the horses and slashed the coarse ropes which bound his wrists. He thanked me with his eyes, rubbed his arms and picked up the wine skin.

‘The Prince Tutankhamun?’ I repeated.

‘Now that, my lord, is debatable. The likes of Meryre and Khufu had their own plans about what would happen once they had seized power in Egypt. Djoser regarded Tutankhamun as a pretender.’ He smiled at my surprise.

‘But he was Akenhaten’s son.’

‘Djoser dismissed him as a by-blow of the Mitanni monkey.’

‘The Lady Khiya?’ I murmured.

I recalled Djoser’s dying words, and quietly vowed that Meryre would pay for his treason. If Aziru was telling the truth, and I suspected he was, Meryre would have shown little mercy to that young boy. I questioned him again, but Aziru had told me all he had learned. He turned to other matters, grudgingly praising Horemheb’s speed and military skill.

‘I never imagined,’ he admitted, ‘we’d be attacked so fast. Now, my lord Mahu, what will happen to me? Trial for treason?’

His question was answered as soon as we reached Horemheb’s camp. Rameses had now arrived, bringing a whole host of mercenaries with him, as well as units of regiments he had collected on the way. I was pleased to see some of the soldiers I had left at Memphis; they greeted me, toasting me with their cups, hailing me as one of the great heroes. Of course they were drunk, enjoying the spoils of victory. They, like the inhabitants of Sile, were now sightseers to the battlefield, which Horemheb had turned into a plain of desolation, a sea of black ash; all grass, trees and vegetation were burnt. Apart from mounds and cracked masonry, nothing was left of the usurper’s camp or that hideous Mastaba where he had tortured his prisoners. The army had pulled back close to the Nile, taking advantage of the greenery and shade. Some troops had already been dispatched south. Other units fanned out across the Delta, searching for any fugitives.

I received an invitation to join Horemheb and Rameses in their pavilion. I told Sobeck to keep the leather sack and Khufu under strict watch, to wait till my men sobered up and then move away from the camp, where both those precious records and my prisoner would be safer.

Horemheb was still basking in his triumph, Rameses lavishing flattery after flattery upon him. They were both in their cups, staggering to their feet to grasp my hand. I told them that Khufu was my prisoner. Rameses made to object, but Horemheb nodded his agreement. They also questioned Aziru. Despite my protest, Rameses punched him in the face and chest, similar indignities being inflicted upon the usurper and his woman. Rameses forced the latter to kneel, pushing his groin into her face before he tired of the game and ordered both to be shackled to the standards outside the General’s tent.

‘My lord Aziru.’ Horemheb clapped the Canaanite on the shoulder and tugged viciously at his beard. ‘The Royal Circle have made a decision regarding you.’

‘I am to die.’ Aziru had conducted himself with dignity throughout Rameses’ insults.

‘No, no, my lord.’ Horemheb, still tugging at his beard, forced him to turn. ‘The Lord Ay has made known the judgement of the Royal Circle. It is as I thought. Hittite prisoners and chieftains are to be summarily executed, as are mercenary captains. Their followers are to be sent to the mines, and the usurper is to be loaded with chains. But you, my lord, you may return to Canaan, without your eyes.’

The blinding took place an hour later. Despite all my protests, a glowing red-hot knife was held to Aziru’s eyes. Afterward he sat, face all bandaged. He was still fighting back the sobs of pain as he was loaded into a cart with wine, water and provisions, given an escort of his own mercenaries and, to a chorus of catcalls, sent on his way.