The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (49 page)

Read The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) Online

Authors: Paul Doherty

BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
4.82Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
‘How dangerous is this unrest?’ Djarka asked.
Nebamun spread his hands. ‘The occasional attack, noisy encounters, rocks hurled. We are finding it more and more difficult to bring produce into the markets. They would have attacked you if it was not for your military escort. My lord Mahu, we should abandon the city, leave as soon as possible.’
I thought of the treasures, my own possessions, the chest of secret documents buried in my private garden.
‘I propose we abandon everything,’ Nebamun insisted. ‘The war barges are ready. We could be gone within the day, let the city rot.’
‘So, Colonel, you have also received messages from General Horemheb. How is he?’
‘He wants the city to die and the memory of Aten to be forgotten,’ one of Nebamun’s officers declared cheekily.
‘I will think about what you say.’
Djarka and I returned to our quarters. The Prince was sleeping. Ankhesenamun and Amedeta walked languorously into the room. They must have been testing certain perfumes, for their fragrance hung about like incense. They looked resplendent in shimmering jewellery. Ankhesenamun’s speech was slightly slurred; both had been drinking deeply.
‘Uncle Mahu,’ she lisped, ‘welcome back. We did miss you, didn’t we, Amedeta?’
The lady-in-waiting smiled at me with her eyes. Ankhesenamun tiptoed towards me and touched my lips.
‘They are dry and cracked and not for kissing, are they, Amedeta? You should really take more care.’ She simpered at me like a cat, then walked away, glancing over her shoulder, an impudent, insolent smile on her face. ‘You should take more care, Uncle Mahu, and do what Grandfather asks.’
‘What is she implying?’ Djarka whispered, as he kicked the door shut behind her. Usually he would have been impatient to be away. During the last days of the expedition Mert had become ill with a slight fever, which had made her drowsy. As soon as we arrived in the palace, Djarka had asked for Pentju’s help; the physician had examined her and said it was nothing that two days’ rest and cups of pure water wouldn’t cure. ‘My lord,’ Djarka insisted, ‘the Lady Ankhesenamun was sending you warnings.’
I broke from my reverie. ‘Yes, yes, she was! Stay there!’
I went out into my garden and into the cypress grove. One tree I’d carefully marked. I pushed away the boulder and clawed at the earth. The chest was there, but the lock was broken. Inside, nothing. I knelt and cursed. All the documents I had found in the usurper’s camp had gone. I tossed the chest away and tried to control the surge of fear. Ankhesenamun and Amedeta must have found and destroyed them.
‘Are they gone?’
I whirled round. Djarka stood at the edge of the grove.
‘Of course they are! Which means Lord Ay must be plotting.’
‘What?’
‘My removal, even my death. The Royal Circle is shrinking. Meryre, Tutu, General Rahmose and the Atenists have gone. Horemheb and Rameses are busy playing soldiers in Memphis. Maya and Huy? Well, they can be bought. Sobeck is busy about his own affairs, so you and I are the next to go. Ay has one ambition, to have Tutankhamun crowned whilst he himself becomes the real power in Egypt. He wants this city to be abandoned, the Atenists destroyed. He wants to forget the past and concentrate on the future.’ I got to my feet. ‘He would have had me arrested earlier but he wasn’t strong enough, whilst I had the proof of his treason. Now that’s gone.’
‘Horemheb and Rameses would protect you.’
‘They can be bought, as can the rest. Lord Ay will be very clever. A new day dawns for Egypt. Mahu is part of the past, so let’s forget him.’
‘My lord Mahu, my lord Mahu.’ A servant came hurrying up. ‘Colonel Nebamun demands to see you.’
Nebamun was waiting in one of the small courtyards. His men had brought in a prisoner, one of those wandering holy men, a gaunt creature with stick-like arms and legs, his skin blackened by the sun, his lean face pitted with scars and holes. Slightly demented, he showed no fear of the soldiers.
‘We found him outside the palace,’ Nebamun declared. ‘We have been wanting to take him for days. A self-declared prophet.’
‘A voice from the east,’ the man shouted. ‘A voice from the west. A voice from the north and the south.’
‘Whose voice?’ I yelled back.
The man drew himself up, hitching the dirty kirtle around his waist. He grasped the staff he was leaning on. One of Nebamun’s men kicked it from his hand, but the self-proclaimed prophet chose to ignore this. Instead he advanced on me, one bony finger pointed, the nail coated in dirt.
‘The Voice of Devastation!’ he declared. ‘And listen to this voice. So say the Gods. I abhor this eastern land. I will not enter this place of destruction. The offerings you bring are detestable to me. I will pass through it. I will not stay. Fire followed by dust, the voice proclaims, the city is doomed.’
‘And who are you?’ I asked.
‘I am a swallow. I am a swallow,’ he replied. ‘A messenger of the Scorpion Goddess. I bring secrets from the Fields of Rushes. I have announced this city to be doomed.’
‘Who paid you?’ I asked, grasping the man’s finger and bending it. The prophet broke off his lamentations. I kept twisting the finger; he screamed with pain and fell to his knees.
‘I have not been paid, my lord. I take my staff and sweep the sky. I see visions: this city is doomed.’
I gazed into his mad eyes and smelled the beer heavy on his breath. ‘If it is doomed,’ I declared, ‘then you had best leave. Colonel Nebamun, throw him into the river!’
The uprising occurred that night. I’m not too sure if Meryre’s agents were active. The leaders were Marunet and Pera, two merchants who’d made a fortune in the alabaster mines. They’d planned to seize the Prince, hold him hostage and issue their demands to the Royal Circle. The first proof of their intention was slingshots, which sent our guards spinning from the walls, followed by a hail of arrows. A wooden pillar taken from a house and placed in a cart was used to force the gates, but they were beaten off just as the sun rose. I watched from one of the towers as our archers leaned over the parapet and dispatched the attackers. Corpses sprawled in blood, pierced with arrows; the skulls of others were crushed by our slingers. My view from the tower provided little comfort: already smoke and flames could be seen from many quarters of the city.
‘The mob intend to lay siege to us; we have no choice but to withdraw,’ Nebamun rasped.
I asked for food and wine to be brought. I ate and drank watching the attackers withdraw back into the side streets off the main avenue leading down to the palace. Occasionally, groups of armed men would re-emerge to loose a few shafts before retreating into the shadows. At the ninth hour Marunet and Pera sent a herald in the name of the so-called Council of the City, an impudent fellow who swaggered up to the gate waving his sword as if he was an officer. He demanded entrance. I let him in, but had him arrested.
‘Why?’ he spluttered.
‘Treason!’ I replied.
He was not so arrogant when we tortured him. My mercenaries began to skin his legs and arms, so he agreed to confess. He provided the names of the city leaders and let something slip which chilled my heart: the envoy, I forget his name, protested how their actions had the backing of the palace.
‘Which palace?’ I asked.
‘Why, this palace,’ the man spat out, his lips covered in blood. Eventually I was convinced that he had told me all he could. I ordered the guard to execute him and toss his head from the walls.
I stormed out of the House of Chains and up to the women’s quarters. Ankhesenamun and her fellow demon Amedeta were in the inner chamber, sitting on a double stool. They’d heard about the uprising and the ensuing chaos, yet they were examining one another’s fingernails as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
‘Why, Uncle Mahu.’ Ankhesenamun raised her head. ‘You look troubled. Are you worried? I did tell you we should leave here.’ I could have slapped her face. Amedeta sat cross-legged next to her, cat eyes smiling.
‘My documents?’
‘Uncle Mahu, what are you talking about?’
‘You know what I am talking about.’
I raised my hand and stood back, shouting for my guards. They burst into the chamber, swords drawn. The two minxes sprang to their feet. Ankhesenamun protested at such an intrusion.
‘Don’t worry,’ I soothed. ‘You are safe.’
I told the mercenaries to search the chamber. Ankhesenamun and her fellow bitch screamed abuse. The outburst brought a servant running; at the sight of my guards’ drawn swords, he hastily withdrew. I told the guard to search everywhere. Ankhesenamun and Amedeta sat back on the stool, resigned to what was happening. From outside rose shouts and cries as the rebels renewed their attack. I watched my mercenaries, robbers and plunderers to a man, strip the chamber and beyond. At first I thought Ankhesenamun had been too cunning; in the end she proved to be stupid. I found the documents I was looking for in the false bottom of a large wooden chest: letters from her grandfather containing information and news about what was happening in Thebes, and what she had to do here.
‘My dear daughter.’ I read the words aloud, pushing Ankhesenamun away. ‘You must find what I want and destroy it. In the end Uncle Mahu will be happy that what he held he can hold no longer.’
I pointed at Amedeta.
‘You sent her to seduce me. Was she your watcher, your spy?’
‘You’re getting old, Uncle Mahu,’ Ankhesenamun spat back, ‘and stupid with it. You are clumsy.’
I told my guards to push her back in the chair. Of course they didn’t: the Royal Flesh was sacred. I just wanted that bitch to understand how my patience was exhausted.
The rest of Ay’s letters were full of advice, written in code which I soon deciphered. He talked of friends in the City of the Aten. Towards the end of one letter I came across assurances that all would be well and that she and the young Prince would not be harmed. I threw the letters on the floor and gestured at the window.
‘You’re behind all this, aren’t you? You have been feeding these rebels with information, agitating them.’
I would have continued my rage, but Colonel Nebamun came up. Ankhesenamun, the bitch, smiled coyly at him. I could tell from his face that the situation was grave.
‘We have archers in the palace,’ he whispered. ‘No, I mean rebel archers, servants who’ve armed themselves. We must withdraw before dusk. We must take the Prince and the rest and make our way down to the barges. I have checked the kitchen stores: we have enough supplies to last only two to three days here. The rebels are not yet fully organised …’
‘But soon they will be?’
‘By then they will occupy the city between here and the river.’
I went across and studied one of the paintings on the wall, depicting Akenhaten worshipping the sun. Ay knew I was trapped, whilst I realised he was on his way here to play the role of the great saviour. We were in no real danger. If the palace was stormed, the Prince and Ankhesenamun would be held hostage. The rebels would be under strict instruction to keep them safe. I wondered what orders had been given about me.
‘I must advise you,’ Nebamun insisted, ‘unless we evacuate, the palace will fall; there will be a blood bath.’
I wiped the sweat off my face and nodded in agreement. Orders were issued. Many of the servants had already deserted. My mercenaries had also sensed which way the winds were blowing. If the rebels stormed the palace it would be a bitter fight, room to room, courtyard to courtyard; they, too, wanted to go.
As the sun began to set, we gathered in the central courtyard. Nebamun agreed to abandon his chariots. We would fight on foot. The narrow streets and lanes, not to mention the ropes stretched across them, rendered the deployment of chariots as useless. I had every shield brought from the armoury and we formed a defensive wall, six deep on all four sides. The Royal Household was placed in the middle. Nebamun commanded the front; I defended the rear.
We waited until the setting sun dazzled the attackers, then I ordered the gates to be opened and we began our advance along the Avenue of Lions, down to the river. Nebamun had already sent scouts, dressed in the garments of servants, to warn the barges we were coming. It was a bloody fight. We were greeted by a hail of missiles, slingshots, arrows and rocks; we could not stop for our wounded. In the centre, the Prince and Ankhesenamun were protected by royal shield-bearers. My heart went out to the young lad and his sister, who showed no fear as, time and again, the shield wall was attacked, the rebels desperate to break through. The imperial standard was displayed, a sign that the Prince was part of our company; this lessened the ferocity of the attack, the enemy commanders being wary of spilling the Sacred Blood.
It must have been two miles from the palace gates to the river, yet it seemed the longest march. At first we moved quickly, catching the rebels by surprise, but as they realised what was happening they raced along the side streets parallel to the main avenue. Nebamun kept moving to ensure they did not encircle us. I was aware of the houses on either side, statues grimacing down at us, and the air humming with arrows. I stood behind our rear ranks, watching the attackers. Now and again shield-bearers would go down, but there was nothing we could do for them, and the vicious tug-of-war continued. The closer we got to the river, the more desperate the struggle became, but at last we were there. The barges were ready. Nebamun’s ranks opened and the Prince and his half-sister, together with their servants, hurried on to the first barge, the archers on board loosing arrows over our heads. Once the Prince was safe, the rest followed. We established a corridor and, as darkness fell, our protective ring began to shrink. Barge after barge closed in and took on board all it could carry before moving away. The rebels had not thought of this. They had no command of the water, while the captains of our war barges were skilled river fighters.

Other books

Another Green World by Richard Grant
Plum Pie by P G Wodehouse
Murder on the Celtic by Conrad Allen
Innocence Enslaved by Maddie Taylor, Melody Parks
Five Go Glamping by Liz Tipping
Grizzly Love by Eve Langlais
Branded by Ana J. Phoenix