The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (4 page)

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Authors: Paul Doherty

BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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‘Mahu.’ My name came as a whisper, as if we were lovers or conspirators. ‘Mahu, what is the matter?’
‘Your Highness will be informed in due course.’
‘Your Highness will be informed in due course,’ she mimicked, and laughed girlishly, fingers to her face. She snapped open the fan held in her right hand and shook it vigorously before her, those beautiful eyes no longer laughing, but cold and hard. ‘I am not a child, Mahu. I am at least fourteen summers old. I have been a Queen and a mother to a child. I shall be a future Queen and the mother of the heir.’
‘For the moment, Your Highness, you are what you are and I am what I am. You know as much as I do and, I am sure,’ I pushed my face a little closer, ‘that when our meeting is over, God’s Father Ay, your grandfather, will slide into your quarters to share what we are about to learn.’
Ankhesenamun smiled. It was always the same: parry and thrust like two stick fighters, Ankhesenamun flirting, yet beneath that, menacing, acting the innocent, a woman who had slept with her own father and, if my spies were correct, offered similar favours to her grandfather too. A true temple girl, Ankhesenamun! She’d put the best heset to shame! She was dangerous not just because of her beauty but that air of childlike innocence, which masked a heart and wit as cruel as a mongoose. Oh yes, she was Nefertiti’s daughter and Ay’s granddaughter, inheriting every ounce of their cunning.
Ankhesenamun flounced away, fanning herself, shouting out her congratulations to the two stick fighters. She walked so quickly, Djarka almost collided with her, and had to step back, offering profuse apologies. Ankhesenamun just laughed and followed her half-brother through the door. My mercenaries hurried after. They had their orders. Akenhaten’s last written instruction was that I was to be the official and trusted guardian of his baby son. This had also been the wish of Tutankhamun’s mother Khiya, so I had taken an oath which I regarded as doubly sacred. Tutankhamun was never allowed out of my sight or that of Djarka; even the melon he had been sucking had been carefully tested and tasted. I stared around the courtyard. The retainers of the other members of the Royal Circle were emerging from the shadows of the corners, chattering amongst themselves, wondering what news had disturbed the Great Ones. I studied these. Each hyaena leader had his own pack, and I wondered how many of them could be trusted: soldiers of different nationalities, mercenaries, people fleeing from the law in other cities. Some had been fanatically loyal to Akenhaten; I did not trust any of them, yet I dared not act. As Chief of Police I was tempted to advise Ay that an imperial edict should be issued disbanding such retainers in the cause of common peace and harmony. Ay would have loved that! He’d have insisted, whether I was Chief of Police or not, that my scouts, as I called them, should also be banned from the palace precincts.
I sighed and followed the rest through the door, walking along the narrow tiled corridor towards the great council chamber. Nakhtimin’s guards were already clustered before its copper-plated doors of Lebanese cedar. Many of these men were from the Ra regiment, which had been based near Akhmin, Ay’s own town, and they all owed a personal allegiance to what I secretly termed the Akhmin gang: Ay, Nakhtimin and others of their coven. The rest of the Royal Circle were waiting for me. Ay sat on a throne-like camp chair, the ends of its arms carved in the likeness of a lion’s head, the legs in the shape of unsheathed claws. Members of the council sat on cushions or small stools. In the middle of the Royal Circle, five scribes from the School of Life squatted ready, trays on their laps, papyrus pens poised.
Once the chamber had been magnificent, but the years of neglect during Akenhaten’s stay in his magnificent new city 150 miles to the north had wrought their effect. Plaster peeled from the walls. Frescoes and paintings had lost their vibrancy; the blue and gold pillars were beginning to flake. In one part of the ceiling a cornice had come away, and the dust still littered the floor. The palace had been infested by rats and mice. Ay’s response had been to let loose a legion of cats, and the council chamber still reeked of their smell.
I took my seat, wrinkling my nose, even as Meryre, who acted as chaplain and lector priest of the Royal Circle, intoned a prayer to the All-Powerful God. No one dared ask whether he was praying to Amun-Ra, the Silent God of Thebes, or to the Aten, the glorious Sun Disc, symbol of Akenhaten’s mysterious Almighty, All-Seeing God. I gazed round the circle. Apart from Meryre and other fanatics of the Aten, the ‘devout’ as Huy diplomatically called them, I doubted if any, including myself, believed in any God. True, Horemheb was devoted to Horus of Henes, his home town, though he regarded him more as a keepsake, a lucky charm, than a spiritual being. We were the hyaenas, hungry for power, ever watchful of Ay. If he slipped or weakened, the rest, myself included, would tear him to pieces. Yet Ay was cunning as any of us. More importantly, Tutankhamun was his grandson and Ankhesenamun his granddaughter. Although I was the prince’s guardian, Ay had assumed all the power of regent, and none dared question him. We all recognised that everyone in the Royal Circle was marked. We had served the Aten. We had been part of the great heresy. Others in Egypt, generals and courtiers, the mayors of powerful towns, particularly Thebes, had grudges and grievances to settle with us. It was that fear of these others which kept us together, and Ay had proved himself to be the most redoubtable leader of the pack.
Once Meryre had finished his gabbling, Ay sat quietly, as if reflecting on the prayer.
‘My lords.’ He lifted his arms, spreading his hands as if to intone a chant. ‘My lords, look around. This chamber represents all of Egypt.’
A few glanced about them; the rest watched Ay.
‘We must acknowledge,’ Ay continued, ‘that the move to the City of Aten proved to be a mistake, but the will of Pharaoh was paramount and we had no choice but to obey.’
A chorus of assent greeted his words. Ay was chanting a hymn we all recognised, every letter, every syllable, so we always joined in the chorus.
‘The cities of Egypt have suffered,’ Ay continued, ‘their temples neglected, their courtyards overgrown, their treasuries empty.’ His voice grew stronger. ‘Our armies, except for that of Memphis,’ he smiled at Horemheb, ‘lack supplies, weapons and recruits. Soldiers desert in droves, their officers no longer care, the barracks are empty. Worse still, Egypt’s enemies, the People of the Nine Bows, grow more insolent and arrogant.’
Horemheb clapped his hands, nodding fiercely, gazing round, challenging any to contradict Ay’s words.
‘Outlaws and bandits prowl the Red Lands,’ Ay continued. ‘Our mines in Sinai are constantly attacked, whilst fresh news comes about unrest in Kush, whose princes forget to pay the tribute due to the Great House of Egypt.’
I sat, eyes half closed, listening to the litany of Egypt’s woes. The breakdown in trade, the empty treasuries, low morale amongst the troops, rebellions and revolts in this city or that province, the growing threats from across Sinai where Egypt’s client states in the land of Canaan now ignored Pharaoh’s writ and fought amongst themselves. To the north of Canaan a great empire was rising. The Hittite princes were becoming more and more absorbed by Egypt’s weaknesses, ever ready to encroach on borders, threatening to sweep south and occupy the rich valley lands and sea plain of Canaan. I was tempted to interrupt Ay’s speech, but recognised what he was doing. He was reminding us that we were all responsible for Egypt’s loss of greatness. At last he finished and sat, hands in his lap, head down.
After some time he looked up. ‘What is the greatest danger?’
‘Aziru!’ Horemheb spat the name out.
‘Aziru,’ Ay echoed, nodding wisely.
‘A prince of Canaan,’ Horemheb continued. ‘We know he undermines our allies, how he supports the Hittites. Our one great ally there, Rib-Addi, King of Byblos,’ he gestured across to Tutu, Akenhaten’s fervent chamberlain, ‘sent letter after letter begging for help, for just one chariot squadron. Even that letter was never answered, never shown to anyone.’
‘Like you,’ Tutu leaned forward, face contorted with fury, ‘I took my orders from Pharaoh!’
‘Didn’t you advise him?’ Rameses taunted.
‘Yes, and so did you,’ Tutu retorted. ‘But Pharaoh’s will was manifest. No troops were to cross Sinai. Our allies were to settle their own problems. Akenhaten planned to go along the Horus Road and bring the word of Aten to his allies.’
‘Nonsense,’ Horemheb bawled. ‘Akenhaten made a vow he would never leave his city.’
The rest of the circle were drawn into the shouting match of accusation and counter-accusation. Ay glanced at me, then looked away: eventually he clapped his hands and kept doing so until all conversation ceased.
‘Rib-Addi is dead.’ His words were greeted by a low moan. Horemheb would have sprung to his feet but Rameses gently pushed him back on to the cushions. ‘The messenger brought the news. Aziru has attacked Byblos, his troops have sacked the city. Rib-Addi was caught, his throat was slashed like a sacrificial goat and he was hung over the main gateway.’
‘But our ally Tushratta, King of the Mitanni?’ Horemheb protested. ‘Khiya, mother of the Prince Tutankhamun, was his daughter. He promised us help.’
‘The Mitanni dare not move.’ Ay shook his head. ‘The Hittites have sworn a great oath. If the Mitanni intervene in Canaan so will they.’
‘Then we must send troops,’ Rameses urged. ‘Bring fire and sword to Canaan.’
‘Will we?’ Ay snapped his fingers and gestured at Maya. ‘How much silver and gold do we have, Treasurer?’
‘Enough for a twenty-day campaign,’ Maya replied, ‘and then nothing.’
‘Well, General Rameses?’ Ay glared at Horemheb’s ally. ‘How far do you think we’ll go on twenty days’ gold and silver; which troops shall we send?’
‘There’s the Horus and Isis regiments at Memphis,’ Rameses protested. ‘Foot soldiers and chariot squadrons, not to mention the Ra—’
‘Ah.’ Ay raised his hands in a gesture of surprise. ‘So we dispatch across Sinai the only three regiments we can trust, led by the only two senior generals—’
‘We can trust.’ Huy finished the sentence.
Horemheb and Rameses fell silent.
‘If we send the Horus and Isis,’ Ay sighed, ‘all we will have left are our mercenaries and Nakhtimin’s imperial regiment. If we faced revolt or mutiny here,’ he shrugged, ‘how long would any of us survive?’
‘We must wait,’ Maya intervened. ‘The temples and palaces must be restored, the treasuries filled, the allegiance of every regiment guaranteed. Until then our allies in Canaan must look after themselves.’
‘Wait!’ Horemheb shouted. ‘Wait!’ He turned and glared at me. ‘Mahu, you are Chief of Police, and Overseer of the House of Secrets. Internal security is your concern.’
‘Is it now?’
‘You sit there silent,’ Rameses taunted. ‘As if half asleep. Still dreaming about the glory days, Mahu?’
I held Ay’s gaze. I was his ally. He knew that I knew it was not for any liking. We were just men manacled together. We had no choice in the matter. We either stayed together or fell together.
‘Mahu the dreamer,’ Rameses repeated.
‘General Rameses!’ I paused.
‘We wait with bated breath,’ my tormentor murmured.
‘General Rameses, you are a dead man. No, don’t let your hand near that dagger you’ve hidden beneath your robes. Don’t you realise?’ I answered his furious look with my own. ‘Every man in this chamber is a dead man! God’s Father Ay sings the hymn and we know the chorus. Each of us was a friend of Akenhaten, he whom the priests of Amun-Ra and Thebes now call the Great Heretic. We are blamed for what has happened.’ I gestured towards the windows. ‘Ask Sobeck. Wander the streets of Thebes, if you dare. There are men who would pay good gold to see your head, and mine, pickled in a barrel! They would love to either impale us alive or bury us in the hot sands of the Red Lands.’
‘If we had followed the Aten?’ Meryre intervened. ‘If we had kept faithful to our master’s vision?’
‘Shit!’ Rameses shouted. ‘It’s
because
we followed that vision.’ His voice faltered.
‘That’s right, General Rameses,’ I agreed. ‘Because of that, we are now in crisis. We are so weak, we daren’t even let you out of our sight, not to mention your precious regiments. I have reports of unrest from the Delta to beyond the Third Cataract: conspiracies, covens, disaffected officers, treasonable mayors. Did you know certain powerful ones are seriously considering asking the Mitanni or the Hittites to intervene in Egypt?’
‘Never!’ Maya protested.
‘True,’ I replied. ‘We have no names, yet in every city along the Nile, from the Third Cataract to the Great Green, treason and treachery bubble like water in a pot.’
‘So what do you advise?’ Horemheb asked quietly. ‘That we should be careful?’
I stretched out my arms. ‘On the one hand we have those who hate us because we followed the Great Heresy. And on the other,’ I glared at Meryre, Tutu and others of their coven sitting across the council chamber, ‘there are those who hate us because we deserted the Aten, the Great Heretic’s vision. We have no friends, no allies.’ I gestured at Anen, Ay’s kinsman, who had been installed as High Priest of Amun-Ra in Thebes. ‘He is our high priest, yet he dare not even officiate in his own temple. Have you heard of the Shabtis?’

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