The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (12 page)

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Authors: Paul Doherty

BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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‘So he was the intended victim?’ Sobeck demanded.
‘Yes, that attack was to show Meryre that the Shabtis of Akenhaten strike at anybody, not just members of his retinue. A carefully measured ruse to heighten fear, to keep the Royal Circle united, at least for a while, in the face of the common threat, which makes me think that Ay and his wily granddaughter are behind all of this.’
‘If you’ve reached that conclusion,’ Djarka murmured, ‘then so will others.’
‘I suppose they will. It’s just a matter of who will move first. Who will succeed? Once this present threat is removed, things will become a little clearer.’
Our journey north continued uneventfully. We passed Denderah, the great turning on the Nile. At first nothing seemed wrong, out of place or amiss. The river traffic was busy with pleasure boats and fishing smacks. On the banks the peasants and farmers, rejoicing at the effects of the inundation, were preparing to sow another harvest. Yet every so often we saw plumes of black smoke, dark against the light blue sky, whilst the smell of burning mixed with the rich stench of Nile mud, fish and rotting vegetation. The marines I sent to investigate brought back reports of desert raiders on the eastern banks, whilst on the west, Libyan war parties had plundered unprotected, isolated communities. Sometimes these marauders were captured and their corpses impaled on stakes, fixed on the high cliffs above the river, black shadows against the sky. On one occasion we passed a sandbank where at least ten river pirates had been impaled by the mayor of the local city. The breakdown of law and order could also be glimpsed in the empty quaysides. Occasionally we’d go ashore, my standard carried before us displaying a leaping gazelle against a gold and blue background and, on the reverse, the white feather of Ma’at. We marched along silent streets into deserted marketplaces.
Elsewhere the effects of disruption were difficult to detect. The quaysides and docks of the great cities were busy. Barges unloaded aromatic gum, bark, cinnamon, gold, ivory, ebony, as well as precious wood from Canaan. When we returned to the river, we passed numerous barges carrying jars of wine, liquors, fruits, Lebanese cedar, oxen, cattle, and on one occasion even a herd of baby ibex. At Abydos, however, where the great mass of the Temple of Osins stretched above a dark forest of green palm trees, Governor Motep nosed the ground before me in the precincts of the Temple of Min and whined about the growing incursions and lawlessness.
By the time we reached the City of the Aten I had learnt a lot. Egypt’s great cities were prosperous, their quaysides and workshops busy as always; the carvers of stone and wood, the goldsmiths and merchants did flourishing trade. Nevertheless, any town which lacked troops or strong fortifications, any farmstead or village vulnerable to attack, lived under a constant danger from sand-dwellers, Libyan raiders or the host of river pirates who skulked in the lonely stretches of the Nile, seeking out the weak and vulnerable. Of course, news from the Delta had not helped matters, heightening the growing sense of panic, of confusion at what was really happening and what fresh dangers were emerging. Perhaps it was this that changed my mind when we reached our destination.
I stood by the taffrail and stared out at the City of the Aten, its white buildings dazzling in the late afternoon sun. The City of the Aten! I had visited this cove stretching up to the eastern cliffs when it was nothing but sand and shale. I had seen all the power of Egypt transform it into Akenhaten’s Holy City, the place where God and Man met. I had witnessed all its glory, the power of Pharaoh and the splendour of Nefertiti. I had also mourned its decline, ravaged by plague as well as by murderous conspiracy and bloody intrigue. I stared across at its deserted quayside. The ghosts of all those I’d known, loved and hated came out to greet me. I stood there, ignoring all requests and questions, till the sun set and my body chilled. I stood and reflected on all I had seen and made my decision. We would not land there. I brushed aside Meryre’s furious protests. He could land if he wanted to; the Prince and I would continue north to Memphis, the white-walled city.
At Memphis, Horemheb’s principal staff officer, Colonel Nebamun, entertained us in the courtyard of his elegant two-storey house overlooking the river. He offered incense to Seth the Announcer of Battles and quickly came to the point, the question which had so infuriated my entourage.
‘Why,’ he asked, glancing up at the awning snapping under a strong breeze, ‘didn’t the Royal Circle at Thebes act more swiftly? More importantly, why have you brought Tutankhamun and Princess Ankhesenamun into Memphis? Didn’t the Royal Circle order them to be left in the City of the Aten?’
Sobeck and Djarka, not to mention Meryre, had made similar remonstrations, but on this matter I was adamant. I was wary of the lawlessness and my own darkest premonitions. I told Colonel Nebamun that the Royal Couple would be entrusted to him here in Memphis until the present crisis passed. Meryre sitting beside me clucked his tongue and shook his head, but lacked the authority to oppose me. Colonel Nebamun, resplendent in his gold collars and silver bees of bravery, did not object. I also promised that before I left Memphis I would issue formal letters accepting responsibility for what I had done. Nebamun sipped at his wine and nodded agreement. As for his questions about how the Royal Circle in Thebes had reacted to events in the Delta, I told him it was best if his commanding officer informed him personally when he arrived. Nebamun accepted the hint, quietly remarking that ever since he had heard the news, the city regiments had been put on a war footing and were ready to march.
‘And the usurper?’ I demanded. ‘What strength does he have?’
Nebamun squinted up at the sun. ‘We know he has taken the city of Avaris and is camped in the fields beyond. He has about a thousand chariots, two thousand footmen and a host of mercenaries.’
‘Mercenaries?’ I demanded.
‘Libyans and Kushites, some sea people, but mostly Hittites.’
‘Do you think the Hittite king is behind this pretender?’
‘I have told you what I can, my lord,’ Nebamun replied. ‘I have used every spy I could. I have questioned merchants, traders, pedlars, but the enemy camp is closely guarded. They have dug a ditch around all sides with a high palisade. Every entrance is guarded and protected. Men who are regarded as spies face summary execution. They say a veritable wall of impaled corpses circle the camp. You can smell their stench before you see them.’
‘What is the usurper waiting for?’ Meryre demanded.
‘More troops,’ Nebamun declared. ‘We also know he is sending raiding parties back across the Horus Road into Sinai. He is robbing the mines of precious gold and silver, then using the plunder to pay troops and hire more.’
‘Haven’t you thought of infiltrating the camp?’ I asked. ‘Surely there are men here who would serve as mercenaries, or pretend to?’
Colonel Nebamun’s close-set eyes studied me.
‘My lord Mahu, I was a mere stripling when I served under your father, Colonel Seostris, a cunning officer. I learnt my craft well. I handpicked six men and dressed them as mercenaries and sent them north. I told them to join the usurper’s army and send information back. I have neither seen nor heard from them since. According to a merchant, all recruits are closely interrogated. It’s not an impossible task to discover that someone has served alongside the imperial regiments then ask him what he is doing there. I suspect,’ he added bitterly, ‘my men are dead. I’ll send no more.’
He picked up a piece of lamb, richly coated in herb sauce, and chewed on it absent-mindedly.
‘These spices,’ he remarked, ‘were brought by a merchant who also traded with the enemy. He had no choice. He said the usurper was well advised by Hittite officers and strict discipline is maintained in his camp. Any looting is prohibited, martial law has been imposed, merchants and traders go freely about their business, and anyone who breaks these decrees faces summary execution.’
As he stretched out for the wine jug, his hand trembled; Nebamun recognised the danger and so did I. This mysterious usurper was not the chief of some band of robbers or desert marauders. He was leading a highly organised army and was eager to curry favour with the cities and towns of the Delta. He was demonstrating that he was not there to rob and pillage but to claim back what he regarded as his own. Nebamun glanced at me sheepishly.
‘Between here and the Delta, my lord, lie other garrisons. My loyalty is known. This city will be defended, the troops have a personal allegiance to General Horemheb.’
‘What are you saying, Colonel? That officers in other cities cannot be trusted?’
‘It’s obvious.’ Nebamun shrugged. ‘Soon the invader will march south. He’ll issue decrees. Troops will be given a choice: either fight or go over.’
I thanked him for his advice and returned to my own quarters. Lady Ankhesenamun was loudly haranguing Djarka; when I arrived, she turned on me. ‘I have been confined in a cabin,’ she snapped. ‘We were supposed to land at my father’s city; now we are placed here, surrounded by smelly, sweaty soldiers!’ She beat a tattoo on the table, her long nails rapping hard. Beside her crouched Tutankhamun, playing with his toy soldiers. Lady Amedeta turned her back on me as if eager to study the painting of a dancing heset girl, a vivid eye-catching picture.
‘My lady, these smelly, sweaty soldiers,’ I replied wearily, ‘will give their lives for you. I trust Colonel Nebamun; he is a soldier of the old school. You and His Highness,’ Prince Tutankhamun smiled up at me, ‘will be protected by him as well as by Djarka and my mercenaries. These, too, will give their lives for you.’
She pouted and flounced, but I could tell from the laughter in her eyes that she was only acting. Ankhesenamun never cared where she was; she was probably intrigued to be in a place where General Horemheb and Rameses had their strength. She would exploit every opportunity to ferret out information, question, flirt and suborn, anything to increase her power and that of her grandfather. She sat down in the throne-like chair; Tutankhamun rose to stand beside her. She stroked his head gently, whispering endearments to him.
‘And what will happen now?’ Her head came up.
‘I shall journey further north,’ I replied. ‘Send messages to the usurper that we wish to negotiate. You will remain here. In a few days Generals Horemheb and Rameses will arrive, bringing more troops from Thebes and the garrisons along the river.’
‘And?’
‘There will be a battle, my lady. We shall either win or lose.’ I bit back my words. Little Tutankhamun was standing, solemn-faced and owl-eyed. ‘Of course we will be victorious,’ I added hastily and, bowing, left, cursing my own stupidity.
I sent Djarka to the Prince and asked Sobeck to join me on the flat-roofed terrace.
‘It will be cooler there.’ I smiled. ‘And no one can hear.’
I took a wine jug and two cups. Sobeck followed me up the stairs. Nebamun had already erected a canopy; cushions were piled against the protective ledge which ran round the terrace’s four sides.
‘What are we going to do?’ Sobeck demanded. ‘What if Meryre is leading us into a trap?’
‘I suspect he is. The further I travel north, the more I believe we are part of a great conspiracy. Meryre is behind this nonsense; I fear he is coming north to tell this usurper everything he knows. I am even beginning to wonder,’ I slouched down on the cushions, ‘whether the Shabtis of Akenhaten are his work.’
‘So what do you suggest?’ Sobeck dabbed at the sweat on his neck. ‘Are we to go north to put our heads on the slaughter block?’
‘What other choice do we have? I only wish I knew,’ I filled both wine cups, ‘what Meryre intends.’
Sobeck and I argued for most of the afternoon, talking too much whilst our drinking matched it. I went down to sleep and woke in the cool of the evening coated in sweat, the wine tasting bitter on my breath. I washed and changed, and went back on to the roof, watching the sun set, recalling those days I had spent with Akenhaten, when such an occasion was sacred and holy. From the courtyard below drifted the sound of sentries, the bark of a dog. Djarka came up to say the Prince was retiring. I crossly replied that I would soon be down.
‘My lord, you are frightened?’
Djarka stood at the top of the steps, peering at me through the poor light.
‘Do you remember, Djarka,’ I came over, ‘the night we killed those two assassins then hid their corpses?’
‘How can I forget?’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘One of them was a woman I loved. We killed her and her father and buried their corpses between the walls of their house.’ Tears filled his eyes. ‘At night, when I am asleep, I have nightmares. I am back in that house, sitting in the cellar, and her ghost comes out, at first all sweet and coy, but,’ he put his face in his hands, ‘she’s a ghost, Lord Mahu, a phantasm of the night. You are frightened now, aren’t you, by the terrors of the day?’
‘I am very frightened,’ I agreed. ‘As I was that night: frightened of being wrong, frightened of being hurt, wondering what is best to do.’
‘And?’
‘I don’t know why I refused to leave the Prince and his sister at the City of the Aten.’ I grasped my stomach. ‘A feeling, an unspoken fear, a suspicion …’
‘About whom?’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘We have witnessed the devastation along the Nile; a return to the City of the Aten is out of the question. As for going north, what seemed a good idea is, perhaps, not so clever. Sobeck and I could be going to our deaths.’

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