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Authors: Paul Doherty
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BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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‘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.’
BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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