The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (15 page)

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Authors: Paul Doherty

BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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‘Finish the count,’ he said. ‘Some of the corpses we will never find.’ He gestured at the severed limbs. ‘These can join the rest.’ He raised his voice. ‘I want the courtyard cleaned with water and vinegar, baskets of flowers brought out to hide the smell. This is my house, not a slaughter pit.’
I was eager to talk to Nebamun but I could not discuss anything whilst the rest were present, so I excused myself and returned to my own chamber. I stripped and washed in salt water, anointed myself, put on a clean loincloth, robe and soft sandals. I was dazed and confused after the battle. I still felt as if there were blood swilling around my feet.
Djarka was waiting for me in the Prince’s quarters. He was kneeling on the floor; Tutankhamun was playing with toy soldiers. On either side sat Ankhesenamun and Amedeta, both garbed in loose white robes.
‘All hail the returning hero.’ Ankhesenamun smiled. She rose and filled a goblet of wine, and, coming across, pressed it into my hand. Her perfume was fragrant after the stench of slaughter, the tang of blood and the sweaty mustiness of that cellar. ‘We prayed for you, my lord Mahu. How did it all happen?’
I sipped at the white wine. Ankhesenamun stepped back and surveyed me from head to toe.
‘Your eyes look strange and your cheeks are unshaven,’ she murmured, ‘but otherwise not a cut or a mark. What would have happened, my lord Mahu, if they had broken through?’
‘They would not have found you.’ Djarka spoke up. ‘I have told you, my lady, what my orders were.’
I glanced round at the Prince, playing with his toy soldiers, unaware of my presence. Usually he would jump to his feet and run towards me. I went and crouched beside him. He was muttering under his breath, pushing one wooden soldier against another, the usual childish game, but now he did it with an intensity I had never seen before.
‘My lord, Your Highness.’ I stroked his head.
He kept banging the soldiers one against the other.
‘My lord,’ I repeated.
Again, no reply, so I took one soldier from his hand. He turned quickly, holding the other up as if he were about to strike me; his face was pale, his eyes empty.
‘My lord?’ I took the other soldier from his hand; his fingers were clammy and cold. I sat down and pulled him towards me. He didn’t resist, but just sat there whispering as if he was talking to someone I couldn’t see. I glared furiously at Djarka.
‘He’s only frightened.’ Ankhesenamun came up. ‘The clatter of weapons and screams below were hideous. He’s only a child, aren’t you, my beloved?’
She knelt beside me. For a moment that word, ‘beloved’, and the smell of her perfume, the softness of her shoulder and arm, recalled Nefertiti. Tutankhamun jumped from my lap and flung his arms around her. For a while he just stood there, face buried in her neck. Ankhesenamun patted him gently on the back, rocking him gently as if he were a babe. I got to my feet, indicating to Djarka to follow. In the corridor outside I took him to a window enclosure overlooking the courtyard.
‘Is that fear?’ I asked.
Djarka blew his cheeks out. ‘The fighting was ferocious when those men burst in. Amedeta began screaming; so did the Prince. I dismissed his mood as the result of fear; I let him play.’
‘Has that happened before?’
‘Once, twice, but it’s usually a passing mood.’
‘Does he become violent?’ I insisted.
‘On one occasion, yes. He hit me with a toy scabbard; a piece of flint scored my cheek, and he ran away and hid. When I found him he was fine, though he had no recollection of what he had done. He’s only a child.’ Djarka repeated Ankhesenamun’s words. ‘He’s been snatched from one palace to another, then brought to this place of slaughter. They were guided in, weren’t they? We have a traitor in our midst.’
‘Possibly.’ I stared down at the courtyard, now empty of corpses; the servants were busy swilling it with water mixed with salt and vinegar. All the dead and weapons had been removed; only a splash of blood on the wall gave any indication of what had happened just a short while earlier. I suddenly felt weak, slightly dizzy. I pressed myself against the wall.
‘My lord, you are well?’
‘You know what it is like,’ I sighed. ‘I’ll eat and I’ll drink. Sleep as if I haven’t for days. One thing is certain, Djarka.’ I smiled at him. ‘We are no longer envoys. Keep an eye on the Prince and tell me if that ever happens again.’
I was halfway down the stairs when a servant delivered a message: Colonel Nebamun wished to see me in his private chamber. When I arrived, Sobeck and Meryre were already present, seated around a small table. Nebamun himself was acting as servant, pouring wine, serving freshly baked bread with spiced duck. He too had washed and changed. No longer the warrior, but the veteran soldier in his white robes and gold collars of office. Nevertheless, his face was drawn and lined, his eyes bloodshot. He nursed a savage cut on his forearm which the physician had already bandaged. Sobeck, who had received a similar cut on his thigh, was trying to tighten the bandage.
‘Don’t do that,’ Nebamun warned. ‘I don’t know why, but the wound will go putrid. Keep the bandage as loose as possible. My lord Mahu.’ He gestured at the cushions.
I sat down and Nebamun served me; the duck smelt delicious.
‘Go on, eat,’ Nebamun urged. ‘I have dismissed the servants.’ He squatted down himself. ‘I am a widower with no sons, though I am happy enough. Two or three of the local ladies see to my wants.’ He gestured around the stark chamber, which boasted only a few chests, stools and tables. It was dominated by a great wall painting showing Amenhotep the Magnificent, in the guise of Montu, God of War, in his chariot hurtling across scores of slain.
‘He’s my hero.’ Nebamun smiled. ‘I often come in here to say my prayers. When he was Pharaoh, there was no nonsense about the One.’ He glanced quickly at Meryre. ‘When he was Pharaoh, Hittite mercenaries did not sail along the Nile and attack the White-Walled City. They plundered neighbouring mansions,’ he sighed, ‘killed a few servants. I have sent troops to hunt along the banks; some may still be hiding.’
Meryre remained silent, staring down at his food. At last he shook himself from his reverie.
‘How did they know we were here?’ he asked.
‘Are you implying that I told them?’ Sobeck retorted.
‘Of course they knew,’ Nebamun intervened. ‘It was no great secret. Your flotilla must have been seen by many. You have been here a few days, people knew …’
‘We should have left the Prince at the City of the Aten,’ Meryre insisted.
I shifted so I could look at him directly: that round pious face, eyelids stained with green kohl, the Sun Disc amulet still around his neck. He sat all smug like a poisoned toad, cheeks bulging ready to spit his poison. He had that arrogant look which, when we were Children of the Kap, always provoked me. He was daring me to confront him, to ask if he was the traitor.
‘Shall we continue our mission?’ he asked, popping a morsel of food into his mouth.
‘No!’ I replied. ‘You know that we cannot. We are going to our deaths.’
‘You have broken the orders of the Royal Circle. The decrees of the Taurati.’ He invoked the official term for the regency council. ‘You have broken them twice. You could be accused of treason.’
‘Then arrest me, or try to!’
Meryre dismissed my words with a contemptuous gesture.
‘We must continue our mission,’ he insisted.
‘Nonsense!’ I glanced at Nebamun, but he refused to intervene; this was not a matter for him.
‘Then
I
shall continue
my
mission.’ Meryre pushed away the small table; he got to his feet and waddled towards the door.
‘Priest!’ I shouted, clambering to my feet. Meryre paused and turned round. I glimpsed the sword, Colonel Nebamun’s, lying on a table just near the doorway, and ran across and drew it. Meryre turned back to the door, but I crashed into him. Nebamun and Sobeck sprang to their feet. I tried to grasp Meryre’s head, but his wig came off in my hands. He turned, face all flushed, eyes glittering, and glanced at the sword.
‘What are you going to do, Mahu, Baboon of the South? Kill a high priest? We are under orders from the Royal Council.’ He tried to push me away.
‘This morning,’ I hissed, ‘those same people we are meant to treat with tried to kill me and everyone in this house, though perhaps not you.’ I grabbed the Sun Disc amulet and pulled the chain off his neck. He winced in pain.
‘Colonel Nebamun,’ he protested, ‘this is an outrage, it’s sacrilege.’
‘My lord Mahu,’ Nebamun warned.
‘I am the Prince’s Protector,’ I replied, ‘his official guardian.’ I brought the sword’s tip under Meryre’s fat chin. ‘I do not think I can allow you to go. I am placing you under arrest.’
‘How dare you?’ Meryre spluttered. He struggled to break free, but I held him firm against the door, the sword point digging beneath his chin.
‘Shall I tell you about the law, Colonel Nebamun?’ I kept my gaze on that fat, round face, resisting the urge to beat him or press the sword tip a little deeper. ‘Pharaoh’s law is very clear. An attack upon the Royal Person, or any member of the Royal Family or the Sacred Circle, is high treason, punishable by death.’
Some of the anger drained away from Meryre’s face.
‘You are not implying,’ his fat jowls quivered, ‘you are not saying that I am a traitor? I knew nothing about that attack.’
I stepped back. ‘I didn’t say you did, but Colonel Nebamun witnessed what the Hittite said. They came here to kill me and to abduct the Royal Personages: that’s treason! You know, Colonel Nebamun,’ I kept my eyes on Meryre, ‘that it is against the law for any loyal subject of Pharaoh to negotiate or treat with traitors. So, because of that attack, our mission has ended. You, my lord Meryre, because you threatened to break Pharaoh’s law, will be placed under house arrest. I shall take full responsibility for it. Now, my lord, I understand you are leaving.’
I opened the door and bellowed for the guards lounging at the foot of the stairs. They came hurrying up.
‘Escort my lord Meryre to his quarters,’ I declared. The High Priest looked as if he was going to resist. ‘If he objects, bind his hands.’
Meryre puffed himself out, fat fingers plucking at the beaded shawl around his shoulders.
‘I shall go to my own quarters,’ he said. ‘I need no escort.’
He walked down the stairs. The guards looked at me; I nodded and they let him by.
‘Follow him,’ I ordered. ‘As long as he goes where he should and stays where he should, don’t interfere!’
I returned to the chamber.
‘Do you think Meryre is a traitor?’ Sobeck asked.
I sat back on the cushions. ‘He could be, but there again, half of Egypt knew about our mission. I do wonder what would have happened if the raiders had been successful.’ I picked up some bread and broke it. ‘If that had been the case, we would all have been past caring wouldn’t we? But to answer your question bluntly, Sobeck, yes, I suspect Meryre is a traitor, though proving it is another matter.’
‘Is he part of the conspiracy or the cause of it?’
‘I don’t know, Sobeck. It’s like watching the haze in the desert; it distorts and confuses, a veil which hides the truth whilst deceit clouds our judgement, yet I am sure that an invisible cord binds Meryre to the usurper.’
‘So why does he want to go on this embassy?’ Nebamun demanded. ‘Is it a pretext to make contact? To tell the usurper, this false Pharaoh, everything he knows about what’s happening and plotted in Thebes?’
‘Both,’ I replied. ‘I have been invited along as a guarantee, as an act of good faith for the rest of the Royal Circle in Thebes. Of course, once we get there no one knows what might happen. I would not be the first to die of marsh fever in the Delta.’ I shook my head. ‘I think that’s the truth, though there is something else I can’t grasp about this attack.’
‘But how did they know we were here?’ Sobeck sipped from his wine. ‘Oh, I know our flotilla could be glimpsed along the Nile, whilst our arrival here would be known to their spies. But the information that the Prince was actually in Colonel Nebamun’s house?’
‘I kept something back from Meryre.’ Nebamun moved a cushion to reveal a small polished coffer. He opened this and pulled out a piece of bloodstained papyrus. ‘We took this from one of the Hittite officers, a crude map, look!’ Nebamun traced the drawing with his finger. ‘The bend in the river, the shallows, the papyrus grove, the city and the small quayside below my house.’
The papyrus was stained and ragged, covered in signs and symbols I couldn’t understand.
‘It could be the work of Meryre,’ Nebamun continued, ‘a member of his entourage or indeed any one of their spies. We had spies in the Delta, much good they proved,’ he added grimly, ‘whilst the usurper must have spies in Memphis, the White-Walled City, the garrison-home of General Horemheb. Ah well,’ Nebamun smiled, ‘it is not all bad news. A courier arrived late last night.’
‘Yes?’ I asked expectantly.
‘Horemheb and Rameses are on the move. I have been ordered to prepare the Horus and Isis regiments.’

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