The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (31 page)

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Authors: Paul Doherty

BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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‘It could be true,’ I agreed. ‘But if Meryre can play with impostors, so can Lord Ay.’
The old colonel drew his brows together.
‘I trust you, Colonel.’
He leaned over and patted me affectionately on the knee.
‘And you are not a bad fellow either, Mahu, for a policeman.’
‘What if,’ I continued, ‘Ay has decided to play the same game? To spread rumours that Akenhaten is still alive. It will bind the Royal Circle together to face a common enemy.’
Nebamun scratched his head. ‘I am only a soldier, Mahu. No, that’s just an excuse. I see your point. If Egypt is strong, united, the likes of myself will kill its enemies.’
‘After I left here,’ I asked, changing the subject, ‘how was Meryre?’
‘Very quiet.’ Nebamun blinked. ‘Yes, very quiet, rather subdued. I made sure his armed retainers were kept well away, though I allowed him to meet with his gaggle of priests. He was …’ Nebamun blew his lips out, ‘you’d think he was waiting or listening for something. He asked my permission to look at the
per-met cha
.’
‘You have a library?’ I asked.
‘Just a small one. Documents, books, items I have picked up. I like to read, Lord Mahu. I understand you are a poet.’
‘And what did Meryre want?’
‘He said he was interested in the Amnett, the Land of the Dead. I asked him again. He replied the same. He wanted to see the Land of the Dead.’
‘Do you know what he meant?’
Nebamun shrugged. ‘You know these priests. They babble on about this and that. I saw no harm in it. The library is a small chamber at the back of the house. It’s dark and dry, suitable for manuscripts. The only ones to go in are myself and the cat; it lives there to keep the mice down.’
‘And Meryre’s escape?’
Nebamun pulled a face. ‘You know how it is, my lord Mahu. God’s Father Ay arrived, all-important, but by then I had left. We had received our orders to march and I was ready to go. One night Meryre and his companions were here, the next they were gone.’
‘Do you think Lord Ay arranged their escape?’
‘The thought has occurred to me, as well as to Lord Horemheb.’ Nebamun grinned. ‘Perhaps Lord Ay did not wish Meryre to be put to torture? After all …’ Nebamun got to his feet, dropping his beer jug, which I caught and put on the table. ‘Thank you. After all,’ he walked to the door, ‘it would be highly embarrassing to execute members of the Royal Circle, not to mention a high priest of the Aten cult. Anyway, I am to bed.’
I waited for a while, then went down across the house to the small chamber on the second floor which served as Nebamun’s library. I asked the chamberlain to bring oil lamps. I lit these. The cat, sleeping in a corner, sprang to its feet and padded silently around its kingdom. It was a typical soldier’s room, everything neatly filed and ordered. Scrolls were kept in baskets of thick stiffened reeds. The puffs of dust when I lifted the lid showed these had not been disturbed for weeks. I crossed to the shelves where other papyrus rolls had been placed in their niches, each carefully labelled. Again the polished sycamore wood was covered with a fine layer of dust. Carrying a lamp, I checked every ledge until I found where the dust had been disturbed. I pulled out the document. It had been rolled up in a rather haphazard way; this was the document Meryre had looked at. I laid it out on the table and was rather disappointed, for it was only a map. The hieroglyphs across the top proclaimed it to be the property of the Aauaaul-Shet Aiu, the Gods of the Secret Doors and Ways, a rather pompous label for nothing more than a crude map of Egypt, Sinai and Canaan. The Nile was clearly delineated, as were the various cities, the Great Green to the north, the lands of the Hittites and Mitanni, the Sinai peninsula and the Horus Road. Moving an oil lamp, I realised Meryre had marked where the City of the Aten stood.
‘Why did he do that?’ I whispered.
I searched the library again, but could find nothing else. I went down to the kitchen and told the sleepy-eyed cooks to bring a light meal of beef grilled over charcoal and sprinkled with herbs, fresh bread and a jug of wine to the eating hall. I went and kicked Khufu awake. He was drowsy, rather slurred, but I told him to wash and meet me for something to eat. A short while later we dined in the light of oil lamps. Khufu was ravenous, eating quickly, drinking the wine so deeply I told him to be careful. He stopped, his mouth full of juice.
‘You will keep your word, Lord Mahu?’
‘Your life, limb and security are guaranteed,’ I replied. ‘I swear that by earth and sky. You will be given money, provisions and turned out to make your own way in the world. Now, tell me, Khufu, when that happens, where will you go?’
He swallowed hard.
‘Or let me be more blunt. If you wished to follow Meryre, where would you go?’
He stared at the wine cup. ‘If,’ he slurred, ‘if I had to go, I’d travel to one of the villages in the Eastern Desert.’
I recalled the map Meryre had been studying.
‘And then you’d travel north?’
Khufu nodded his agreement. ‘Go east, then north to avoid the Medjay, across the desert and into Canaan; that’s the safest place for the likes of us. We’d still find refuge at the Hittite court but it would be perilous. There are bound to be rewards posted, whilst Prince Aziru is a broken reed. However, I will not join them.’ He gazed bleakly at me. ‘When you release me, Lord Mahu, I shall journey south to Kush. Find some small temple town and end my days in peace.’
‘What would Meryre mean by the Land of the Dead? He wasn’t talking about the Far Horizon?’
‘I heard him talk about the Sea of the Dead, a passing reference, a great inland lake in northern Canaan. The water is so salted it contains no life and lies surrounded by harsh deserts. Local wanderers claim that two great cities, Sodom and Gomorrah, once stood there before they were destroyed by fire from heaven which scorched the land and turned the water to poison.’
‘Anything else?’
Khufu shook his head.
‘And these rumours about Akenhaten being seen in Canaan?’
‘As you say, my lord Mahu, they were rumours. A search was made …’
I leaned across the table, my knife held only inches from his eyes.
‘My lord Mahu, I tell the truth. Why should I lie? Prince Aziru searched but could find nothing; that’s why the impostor emerged.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I was excluded from the War Council, as was Djoser. I suspect they hoped that if they were successful the real Akenhaten would emerge later. My task was to proclaim that the usurper was the True Pharaoh, nothing more, nothing less.’
‘Tell me.’ I withdrew the knife. ‘Djoser was killed out along the Horus Road, but before he died, he babbled about the physician Pentju, how Meryre was very keen to draw this physician into his plotting. Now Pentju is a very powerful man, a great physician, but why would the conspirators be so interested in him?’
‘He was another member of the Royal Circle?’ Khufu stammered. ‘He had been guardian of the Prince Tutankhamun, a friend of his mother?’
I caught it, the shift of fear in his eyes. My only regret is that I never forced him then.
‘I want you to tell me.’ I put down the knife and pointed across the chamber to where I’d placed a writing palette with papyrus pens and inkpot. ‘I want you to go over there and write down everything you know, from the moment the City of the Aten began to crumble.’ I seized his wrists. ‘I want to know everything. You have slept well. Your hunger has been satisfied and your belly has taken enough wine. I shall wait.’
Khufu rose to his feet and scampered across.
I have the document still. I have kept it close: let Khufu tell his own story.
heri-sesh
(Ancient Egyptian for ‘chief scribe’)
Chapter 11
Khufu’s Tale
I have taken a great oath upon my life to tell the truth, or what I can, about the Pharaoh Akenhaten, He-who-is-pleasing-to-the-Aten. I am Khufu, son of Iputy, a priest of Isis in the city of Thebes. I studied at the House of Life and later moved to a small temple of Aten in the Malkata Palace, where I was noted for my industry and my skill, my dedication to letters and my submission to the will of the Divine One. I am a priest who has studied the sacred writings of Thoth but one who came to recognise his error that all such Gods are shadows, phantasms of men’s imaginations. They are the darkness which comes before the dawn and the rising of the Aten, the Sun Disc, above the horizon. I revered the symbol of the All-Seeing, All-Knowing Invisible God, who has commanded us not to make an image of Him but has chosen to reveal Himself in our hearts through His son Akenhaten. I renounced my errors in the presence of the Divine One and his Great Queen Nefertiti, the beautiful woman, She-who-is-pleasing-to-the-Aten. I confessed the mistakes of my life and dedicated myself to the adoration and service of the All-Seeing God.
My zeal was soon noticed by Lord Meryre, High Priest of the Aten and Chief of Ceremonies in the principal temple at the City of the Aten. I was eaten up by zeal whilst the love of the Lord’s House filled my days. One hour there was worth a thousand years elsewhere. I was most obedient and listened attentively to the teaching of the Divine One. This teaching was eventually frustrated by Nefertiti, who wished to assume the status and title of a God and whose interference cast a shadow across the sunlight of the new revelation.
I also acknowledge that I have wandered from the path of righteousness in my zeal to serve my master. I have sat at the camp fire of Egypt’s enemies and taken part in their evil deliberations. I have sinned, and my sin shall always be before me. I am grateful to the Lord Mahu for the great pardon and mercy he has shown me. I have sworn to tell the truth and to do reparation. I shall leave this place and go into obscurity. I shall end my days far away from the great stirrings of Egypt.
Lord Mahu has asked when did it begin? What were the seeds of this great mystery? Now, he knows the history of the City of the Aten, though the events which led to its downfall are hidden in the murk and swirl of the strife. So when
did
it begin? I shall answer bluntly. A rift occurred between the Divine One, Akenhaten, and his Queen Nefertiti over the birth of the Divine One’s son by the lesser queen and wife Khiya, Princess of the Mitanni. It was common gossip that Nefertiti had tolerated Khiya on the understanding that she would never conceive. When she heard that the Princess of the Foreigners, as she termed her, had not only conceived but died giving birth to a living son, her fury knew no bounds. A woman of deep pride and soaring ambition, Nefertiti believed that she could rage and vent her anger in public. The Divine One refused to tolerate this and banished her from his presence. After this breach, the Palace of the Aten was plunged into gloom and despair, the glory of the court dimmed. The splendour of its temples was cloaked in darkness, their lanterns and lights extinguished by a sense of creeping despondency. Akenhaten was alone, Khiya dead, Nefertiti exiled to her quarters in the northern part of the city.
The Divine One, by the fifteenth year of his reign, allowed his head to be turned and his heart spoiled by strong wine and the juice of the poppy. His soul became unquiet, wearing out his body as an over-sharp sword wears out its sheath. Anxious and agitated, Akenhaten would prowl the palace corridors. Sometimes he would cry for his God; other times for Nefertiti, his baby son or his comrades from years past. He was a man who forsook the sacrifice, the morning and evening prayer, living in the sombre caverns of his past. He would act as if attacked by an evil spirit out of the west, as if his soul was possessed by demons. He cursed his father, Amenhotep the Magnificent, and bewailed the tragic death of his elder brother Tuthmosis.
Often Akenhaten would treat me as if I was his ear priest, ready to listen to his confession. He would recount how his elder brother Tuthmosis had been hideously poisoned in the Temple of Amun-Ra at Kransk; how he could have prevented it but failed to do so. He would describe his other sins, his lust and his pride. He would seek relief from his obsession, playing and relaxing with his two daughters whom he now proclaimed as his queens. Both became pregnant, but even then, his seed was cursed, the children of both unions dying in childbirth. Ankhesenamun remained strong, but Meritaten, weak from the start, became terrified of her father’s sullen isolation, his fits of dejection and despair broken by mad bouts of fury. He insisted on sitting in lonely glory in his throne room or prowling round it like a panther in its cage. On other occasions, particularly as the shadows grew longer and the sun began to set, he would become obsessed with unspeakable terrors and demand the company of the Lord Meryre, my humble self and Djoser. We would crouch for hours and listen to his plaints.

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