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Authors: Paul Doherty

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BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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She clucked under her tongue and the cheetah padded across and crouched by her. Ankhesenamun gently scratched between its ears, and the cat purred deeply in its throat.
‘You are surprised, Mahu?’
‘Not that Akenhaten was murdered,’ I responded, ‘but that Nefertiti was responsible.’
‘Their love had turned to hate.’
I pulled a face. ‘I find that difficult to accept. How did Meritaten know all this?’
‘Because Nefertiti told her.’
‘But she produced no proof?’
‘None at all.’
‘And did she say where the body was buried?’
‘Nefertiti claimed that those mercenaries, the same ones you destroyed when you ousted her from power, prepared the body and hid it away in a cave under the eastern cliffs.’
I stared at the cat, eyes mere slits, purring with pleasure. During his stay at the City of the Aten, Akenhaten had ordered tombs to be dug in the limestone cliffs which overlooked the city. One such sepulchre had been prepared for him but never finished. Now these caves and caverns held a host of caskets and coffers of those who had died at Akenhaten’s court: some by natural causes, others hastily buried when the great pestilence had struck.
‘I often asked Meritaten,’ Ankhesenamun continued, ‘if my mother was lying. Meritaten was easy to frighten; I wonder if my mother was quietly threatening her with a similar fate if she didn’t co-operate.’
‘But Nefertiti never told you?’
I started as the beaded curtains shifted in the light breeze.
‘Never once.’ Ankhesenamun rubbed her hands together and, leaning over, gently whispered at the cheetah, caressing the side of its face. The cat yawned, stretched and padded back to its corner. Ankhesenamun rose to her feet clasping her wine cup and moved across to the window.
‘So, Mahu, we are united in this!’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘It is foolish of you to go north with Meryre, though I know the reason. You must take care. Think carefully before you trust yourself to that treacherous snake and whatever he has plotted.’ She turned away, a sign that the meeting was over. I rose, bowed and left.
Amedeta was waiting in the antechamber, sitting on a divan, head resting back against the wall. I wondered how much she knew and how much she could be trusted. She glanced at me from under her eyelids and raised a hand slowly in mock salutation. I responded and returned to my own quarters. Djarka was already in the House of Adoration. Sobeck had returned to the courtyard, where one of the mercenaries was now singing a low mournful song. I retired to my chamber.
For a while I sat in my chair, going over the events of the day. That was how it was in the Malkata Palace at that time. Time would travel smoothly, events would pass, one day into the next, week after week, month after month, like the river flowing between the banks, until something happened to shatter the serenity, to make the hairs on the nape of your neck curl as you realised events were taking a more dangerous twist. So it was then. The Royal Circle, which had remained united in a state of self-preservation after Nefertiti’s death, was now breaking up. Ankhesenamun was dabbling and I had to decide whether she was doing it of her own accord or at her grandfather’s bidding. The real reason she had confided in me was not because of any trust – at the court of the Malkata Palace trust was as rare as water in the Red Lands – but more because I was the Prince’s protector and guardian. As Tutankhamun matured, my importance would grow. I would become his eyes and ears; after all, the bonds fashioned in childhood are often the strongest.
I dozed for a while, regretting slightly that I had given my word to join Meryre’s embassy to the north. A servant came in and asked if I wanted something to eat. I replied that I didn’t. I heard him clucking under his tongue, muttering about how the laundry woman had left a basket of laundry unpacked. I was so tired I ignored the remark until I abruptly remembered how, earlier that day, before the Royal Circle met, I’d seen two women unload clean linen from their basket.
‘Leave it.’ I whirled round, but the man was already busy with the linen. He stared up in astonishment.
‘My lord, it’s—’ He stepped back, screaming with pain, dropping the linen on the floor, clutching his arm. I jumped up, grasped the conch horn where it hung from a hook on a post and blew a blast. The man staggered back and collapsed to the ground, still screaming. I moved carefully, and even as I did, the linen cloths on the floor shifted and one, two and then a third snake coiled out, long, slim and black with a yellow dash on their foreheads. I recognised them as the most dangerous of snakes: rock adders. One bite was fatal enough.
Outside echoed the sound of hurrying feet, and my captain of mercenaries appeared in the doorway. Sword drawn, he stared in disbelief. The servant now lay on the floor, feet jerking, body in convulsions. His hideous choking chilled the blood.
‘Stand back,’ I warned.
The mercenary captain saw the snakes creeping out from beneath the sheets. They posed no real danger, immediately sliding towards the warmth of the braziers. The servant was beyond help. White foam laced his lips; he gave one last convulsive cry and lay still.
‘A spear!’ I shouted.
The mercenary captain slid one along the floor. I picked it up, edged around the furniture towards him and threw myself out of the door. The mercenary captain followed, and taking off his cloak, stuffed it under the bottom of the door to seal the snakes in.
‘My lord, you are well?’
‘For a man supposed to be dead,’ I wiped the sweat from my face, ‘I am passably fine.’
‘An accident?’
I gazed into his bloodshot eyes.
‘One snake, Captain, perhaps! Three or four in a pile of laundry … don’t be stupid!’ I went and sat on a chair in the antechamber, and gestured towards the door. ‘Leave that for a while, at least for an hour. When you open the door you’ll find the snakes near the braziers or oil lamps. Used to the sun, they’ll seek whatever heat there is. That chamber must be searched from ceiling to floor. I also want you to find out who brought the laundry basket up here.’
I sat waiting for the shaking to stop. Sobeck arrived. I told him what had happened and asked him to check the House of Adoration. He returned.
‘All is well.’ He pulled a stool towards me and sat down. ‘An inauspicious day for you, my lord?’
The captain of the guard returned, and announced that two women had been seen carrying a laundry basket into my chamber.
‘Didn’t you search it?’
‘We did,’ the Captain protested. ‘But the snakes were probably coiled at the bottom. When you lift a lid off a basket, master, and you see linen sheets, the idea of snakes never occurs to you.’
I bellowed at him not to be sarcastic and ordered him to arrest the two laundry women and bring them before me. Sobeck poured me some wine. A short while later two women, whom I recognised as serving in the royal quarters, were hustled up, their faces creased with sleep, terrified at the accusations levelled against them. The guards had not been gentle; one of the women already had a bloody lip. They nosed the ground before me, their cries and shrieks ringing through the chamber. I pressed a foot against each of their heads.
‘Look up,’ I ordered, withdrawing my foot.
Both women raised tear-streaked faces.
‘The Captain has told you?’
Again shrieks and cries from the older one, but the younger, apparently her daughter, glared fiercely at me.
‘We will die,’ she protested, ‘for something we did not do.’
I told her mother to shut up and turned back to her.
‘Why, what
did
you do?’
‘We were in the laundry room,’ she gabbled. ‘We were eating bread and drinking beer, our usual meal, our duties finished. A messenger came in. We thought it was one of the chamberlains. He said laundry had to be taken to your quarters and we were told to do it immediately. The basket was outside the door.’
‘But you brought fresh sheets,’ I countered, ‘earlier today.’
‘He said wine had been spilt, that we were to take the basket up immediately. So we did, it was searched by your guard and we left it in the chamber. We were puzzled because we looked at the bed and could not see any stains; it was as we left it earlier. My lord, we are just servants. We do what we are told.’
I studied both women closely and recognised their innocence. I drained the gold-embossed wine cup and thrust it into the young woman’s hands.
‘In future only take orders from someone you recognise – now go!’
I told the mercenary captain to clear the chamber and sat for a while with Sobeck.
‘Before you ask,’ he stretched out his legs, ‘it could be anyone. That’s the real danger here, Mahu. This is not like a battle where you know friend from foe.’
That night I slept in the Prince’s chamber and awoke early to prepare for the great oath-taking in the Hall of Appearances. I shaved and washed carefully. I donned my finest robes of pure-white gauffered linen, bound round the middle with a blue and red-gold sash, collars of gold round my neck. I went and greeted the Prince, then walked along cavernous echoing passages and into the central courtyard with its soaring statues of Anubis and Horus. The rest of the Royal Circle with their retinues clustered at the foot of the palace steps. I had walked there alone, determined to show how the events of the night before had not frightened me. Of course, the news had spread. Each one came up to express his horror; to urge that the perpetrator of such an assault should be searched out and executed. I thanked them all grimly.
The High Priest Anen came down the steps, his acolytes, heads all shaven, dressed in their purest robes, almost hidden by the gusts of incense. We lined up in formal procession and climbed the palace steps, past the pillars brilliantly decorated with every known colour depicting inscriptions and paintings of long-dead Pharaohs, through the great bronze-plated doors and into the Hall of Appearances. Here the divine choirs were ready, singing a hymn to the Gods of Egypt. Afterwards we took the sacred oath: to serve our Prince loyally and win the munificence of the Gods for the well-being of Tomery, the Kingdom of the Two Lands.
Once we were in the council chamber, however, the mood changed. The gravity of the situation was brought home to us by Anen, who, instead of the introductory prayer, gave full vent to a litany of lamentations.
Wild beasts of the desert drink at
the rivers of Egypt,
The land is in mourning and woe,
Things happen now which have
never happened before!
Men take up arms to battle because
the land is in disorder.
Each kills the other and hate reigns amongst the
people of the towns.
The gods turn away from us men,
The country is in distress and misery.
He paused and stared around the Royal Circle. My gaze never left Ay, his cunning face all concerned and anxious. I idly speculated whether the dirge was his idea or that of Horemheb and Rameses, who were nodding in agreement at every word. Anen continued:
Death is never idle
.
Men are growing poor and our women are barren
.
The people of the desert take the place of Egyptians
.
Our officials are slain
.
The food of Egypt has no taste
.
The children of the great are thrown into the street
.
The House of the King has no more revenues.
We are marching to ruin.
The great are hungry and in distress
.
The poor of the land have become rich whilst its
owners have nothing left.
He who once had not a yoke of oxen now owns
herds
.
He who had not a loaf of bread now owns a barn
,
His granaries are filled with the goods of another
.
Even a bald man who never used pomade owns jars
of scented oils
.
Anen paused once more. At any other time I would have guffawed with laughter, but Anen’s harsh sermon was reminding the members of the Royal Circle that we faced revolution where the first would be last and the last first.
He who went on messages for others now has
messengers in his service
.
The ladies who rested in their husbands’ beds now
sleep on the ground
.
Slaves are the mistresses and adorn their necks with
gold and malachite
,
Whilst noble ladies go hungry and
prostitute themselves
.
Butchers glut themselves on meat which they used
to prepare for the ladies
.
He who was once too poor to sleep with a woman
Has nobles for his mistresses.
Laughter has perished.
Affliction runs through the land mingled with
lamentations.
Anen knelt down. The scribes sitting in the middle of the circle had taken down every word, but once Anen had finished, Ay made a sign for them to cease their writing. I noticed how each of these scribes was a high-ranking member of Ay’s retinue.
BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
12.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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