An Evil Spirit Out of the West (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  Nefertiti arrived during the hot season in the thirty-third year of the Magnificent One’s reign. She and her entourage swept into the courtyard to be met by Akhenaten, his mother, God’s Father Hotep and myself standing behind them. Oh, how shall I describe her? How do you describe the sun? The cool North wind? The beauty of a million dazzling flowers? Oh, of course, I shall try. She was about medium height dressed in embroidered robes. She shimmered and dazzled in jewellery: a pair of bracelets of copper, gold-studded with turquoise, cornelian and lapis lazuli were fastened to her wrists by a golden clasp. A necklace of unique pendants decorated her exquisite neck: it was made of balls of turquoise, lapis lazuli and cornelian, all set in gold cages, and, in the centre an amulet with the inscription: All Life and Protection. Against her lovely chest rested a falcon pectoral displaying the sun disc; it was inlaid with precious stones of blue glass. Anklets of amethyst and gold beads glittered above silver sandals with thongs of pure gold. She was most graceful of form, long-legged and narrow-waisted; the front of her white gown was pulled tightly back to tease us with her full white breasts and elegant throat. People have asked me to describe her face. Perfection in every sense! Oval-shaped with high cheekbones, a short narrow nose above full red lips. Her skin was like dusty gold framed by dark-red hair which cascaded down to her shoulders. Finally, those eyes! Dark blue, eerily beautiful beneath the heavy painted lids. Yet Nefertiti’s beauty was more than that. The way she walked, languorous but purposeful, head slightly back, the imperious gaze belied by the laughing mouth and sparkling eyes.

  On that day, Nefertiti came and stopped before Akhenaten and crossed her arms, coy though seductive, her lovely fingers splayed out against her shoulders. She bowed her head. Even as she did so, she winked at Akhenaten, and, in a soft but carrying voice, spoke the formal words of greeting. Akhenaten took her hands. From where I stood behind him I sensed the joy which flooded his entire being. He replied formally, their faces met then parted. After this we processed into the audience hall, rich with the smell of cooking and the aroma from pots of perfume and countless baskets of sweet-smelling flowers. Eventually I was introduced. I did not make the obeisance: I just stood and stared at this woman whom I had loved at first sight and will love to my last breath. Akhenaten coughed. Nefertiti smiled, one eyebrow slightly raised, the tip of her tongue between those delicious lips. She laughed, came forward, hands touching my arms, those dazzling blue eyes dancing with mischief.

  ‘You are Mahu.’ She spoke as if I was a close friend, a brother. ‘You are Mahu,’ she repeated, ‘the Prince’s childhood friend. I have longed to meet you.’ She paused and glanced in mock anger at Akhenaten. ‘You are more handsome than they said,’ she added impishly.

  I made the obeisance. She withdrew her hand, the tip of her fingers caressed my skin.

  We were ushered to our seats. Hotep and Tiye sat at one end of the small table, Akhenaten and Nefertiti at the other. I sat facing the other person who was to play such an important role in my life though, to be honest, at first I hardly noticed his smiling face. My heart was still singing, my blood thrilling, I was in the Field of the Blessed. Oh, of course, Nefertiti was Akhenaten’s betrothed. She would become the Nebet Per, the mistress of the house, the Ankhet Ennuit, his married woman, the Hebsut, his wife. Yet that did not concern me. She was so beautiful. Who cared how many might stare, touch, possess her, as long as I could?

  The food was served, the goblets filled. I sipped and ate absentmindedly, almost unaware of the diced meat mixed with rice and nuts, the cauliflower and anchovies, the fish in lemon, the lamb and beef in their savoury sauces. Nefertiti was my food and drink. I studied her out of the corner of my eye. Her moods were as changeable as the moon, shy but coquettish. She flirted outrageously with Akhenaten, fluttering her eyelashes, their hands brushing, touching and teasing beneath the table. At times she broke off talking to him and turned to the servants. She ignored the disfigurement of the Rhinoceri but chattered pleasantly to them, asking for their names and how long they had served. Snefru, acting as steward, was specially singled out and complimented. Nefertiti in those first few hours captivated everyone, with her charm and tact. Eventually I had to look away. Her gaze would catch mine, the smile would fade, her eyes becoming more searching as if she was weighing me in the balance like the Goddess Ma’at, sifting for the truth. Only then did Ay sitting opposite me make his presence felt.

  Ay, father of Nefertiti, handsome and dangerous as a panther. A man in his mid-thirties who had seized the cup of life and meant to drink it to the dregs. He was comely of face with a hard, muscular body, every inch the professional soldier. He wore a short, oiled and perfumed wig over his reddish, cropped hair, those sharp, ever-seeing eyes heavily lined with kohl, his handsome, highcheeked face delicately painted. I could see the likeness between father and daughter though Ay possessed an obvious sharpness, carefully hidden beneath effete movements, exquisite manners and precious speech. He had intelligent eyes, a smiling mouth, smooth cheeks and an even smoother tongue. Even then, fascinated as I was by Nefertiti, I recognised a dangerous man, who rejoiced and exulted in his own talents as well as those of his beautiful daughter.

  Oh yes, Ay was a joy to behold and a terror to be with. From the very beginning it was so. A mongoose of a man, of cunning heart and keenest wits. He was dressed in embroidered robes, silver rings on his fingers, and a collar of gold around his neck. He ate and drank sparsely, more intent on studying me. When I noticed him, he grinned boyishly and extended his hand across the table. I clasped it. He then gently led me into conversation about the hunting along the river, the price of wheat, and the details of his own journey down the Nile. At the end of the meal Hotep and Queen Tiye withdrew, as did Akhenaten and Nefertiti, hands clasped together, whispering endearments. I watched them go, such a strange contrast. Akhenaten with his ungainly body and strange face, the jerky movements, the tap of his cane; Nefertiti almost gliding beside him. Yet it was not so much a contrast. They complemented each other: Akhenaten with his sharp, haunting features next to the glorious beauty of his companion. It was almost as if they were no longer man and woman but merged to become one flesh, one being.

  Once they’d gone, I felt as if the sunlight had left the room. For a while I sat sadly cradling my wine cup. Ay plucked a grape and coughed. I looked up, the servants had gone. Only Snefru guarded the door.

  ‘You are fascinated by my daughter?’

  ‘Any man would be.’

  Ay smiled, his eyes half-closed as if he was tired and had drunk too much. He began a desultory conversation but, as he talked, I became aware of how crafty he was. Oh, he mentioned the gossip of the court, once again the weather and the crops. He also used such items to let slip how much he knew, as well as details of his own life: his two marriages, his career as a scribe, his war service as a commander of a chariot squadron. In any other situation he would have been a bore. He kept filling my wine cup, at the same time watching me intently.

  ‘Life changes, Mahu.’ He put the wine jug down, his hands going beneath the table, a deliberate movement; with any other man I’d suspect he was searching for a knife. Then his right hand came up. ‘I am your friend, Mahu. I have watched you. I know all about you. I am one with you.’

  This time the offer of a hand was more formal. He curled back his fingers to reveal an amber and jasper amulet depicting the Aten in the palm of his hand. ‘I am your friend, Mahu, your ally.’

  ‘Under the sun,’ I replied, ‘no trust will last, neither in brother nor in friend. Don’t they tell us, the Wise Ones, not even to put our trust in Pharaoh or our confidence in the war-chariots of Egypt?’

  ‘But a true friend is powerful protection,’ he retorted. ‘It is dangerous to walk alone under the sun.’

  I clasped the hand. Ay gripped my fingers and tightly squeezed, then let me withdraw, pushing the amulet into my hand.

  ‘Come,’ he drained his cup. ‘We have eaten and drunk enough.’

  We left the hall of a
udience arm-in-arm as if we were blood brothers or father and son, Ay talking, gesticulating with his fingers, saying how pleased he was to see the marvels of the Malkata Palace. How he, his family and entourage would be moving into the House of Residence. Once we were through the gate and into the olive groves he dropped such pretence. He clasped my arm, asking me sharp, short questions. Where did I come from? What about my years in the House of the Kap? My experience in war? The campaign against the Kushites? My friendship with Sobeck? He asked such questions though he already seemed to know the answers. Exasperated, I paused. I wanted to go back to the house and feast my eyes on Nefertiti.

  ‘You said you knew everything about me,’ I confronted him. He was the same height as me. Ay clicked his tongue and glanced away.

  ‘I wanted to hear you talk, Mahu. Yes, I know everything about you – and more. I knew your mother.’ He smiled at my astonishment. ‘She was beautiful. Did you know that she was distant kin?’

  I shook my head in amazement.

  ‘Oh yes’ – he made that airy gesture again – ‘third or fourth cousin. I forget now. However, her mother came from the town of Akhmin.’ His grin widened and he punched me playfully on the shoulder. ‘So it’s good to meet you, kinsman.’

  ‘I never knew this.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’ He cleaned his mouth with his tongue. ‘Your father was besotted with her. A happy couple.’ He glanced over my shoulder as if studying something behind me. ‘Aunt Isithia, however,’ he smiled grimly, ‘she was different, wasn’t she? Your father’s half-sister. A sour vessel, Isithia. Crooked of speech and crooked of soul. Did you know she was married twice?’

  Ay enjoyed my amazement. ‘Oh yes, a young priest in the service of Amun-Ra at Luxor. He died of a fever, or so they say. Some people whispered that he had been given a little help across the Far Horizon.’

  ‘Aunt Isithia?’

  ‘In her days she was a temple girl and more. She dabbled in the black arts, became skilled in potions and poisons. Some said she was a witch, others a necromancer who cast horoscopes.’

  He walked round me, as if to ensure that no one lurked in the trees, no spy eavesdropped. He stopped beside me, his mouth only a few inches from my ear.

  ‘When the Prince was born, the priests of Amun-Ra went to Aunt Isithia and asked her to cast a horoscope, to draw back the veil of time and glimpse the future.’

  My heart skipped a beat. Ay’s touch on my shoulder was cold, his voice hoarse yet powerful, as if speaking across the years and rousing nightmares in my adult soul.

  ‘So you see, Mahu’ – it was as if he could read my mind – ‘accidents do not happen. You were not included in the Kap because of your father but because of your aunt. In her younger days she was a beauty and she offered services as a widow to other priests. They say she even had a cure for impotence; a strict mistress, Isithia.’

  I recalled those cries in the night, those mysterious cowled visitors.

  ‘Did Isithia cast the horoscope for the Prince?’

  ‘Of course.’ Ay kept his mouth close to my ear. ‘She predicted the Prince would deal out justice and judgement to the other gods of Egypt. If the priests had had their way, the Prince would have been drowned at birth. The Magnificent One almost agreed, had it not been for my sister Tiye and the protection of He who sees and hears all that is done in secret.’

  ‘And she cast my horoscope?’

  ‘Yes. You were born at about the same time as the Prince. You know how it’s done? The horoscope of a commoner against that of a Prince of the blood. The priests demanded this. They were astonished when Isithia declared that your life and that of the newborn Prince – the Grotesque,’ he pronounced the name slowly, ‘were inextricably linked.’

  ‘And they demanded my death?’ I felt the sudden rush of blood to my face.

  ‘Of course,’ Ay whispered, ‘but the Magnificent One was most reluctant. Your father was a great soldier and Queen Tiye – well …’ he sniggered. ‘The priests may have had Pharaoh’s ear but she had access, how can I say, to other parts of his body? You were always destined for the Kap, Mahu. Brought here and watched and then allowed to serve the Grotesque. The Magnificent One is fascinated. He wishes to see if the horoscope cast unfolds, if your aunt spoke with true voice.’ He patted me on the shoulder and came to stand squarely in front of me. ‘The Magnificent One allowed both of you to live but your aunt, under pain of death, was forbidden to cast a horoscope ever again. You were too young to remember this: she was taken away in the dead of night by men from the House of Secrets. They kept her in a chamber, polluted by the corpses of slaughtered animals.’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘Oh, it must have been six or seven days on hard bread and brackish water. A stinking pit, a warning to her of what might happen if she ever violated the Decree of the Divine One.’

  ‘The flies?’ I whispered. ‘Aunt Isthia always hated flies.’

  ‘So would you,’ Ay laughed, ‘if you had been locked in a pit with swarms all about you, crawling over your flesh.’

  ‘So, this is all ordained?’

  He caught the sarcasm in my voice.

  ‘We don’t believe in that, do we, Mahu?’

  I shook my head. Ay took my hands in his, head slightly to one side.

  ‘I do like you, Mahu. So, tell me the truth.’

  ‘I don’t believe Aunt Isithia could see the future,’ I replied.

  ‘But?’ Ay let go of my hands.

  ‘Aunt Isithia was first married to a soldier, then to a priest of Amun-Ra,’ I explained. ‘As a widow she served other priests who came to drink from her cup of pleasure. From the moment …’

  ‘From the moment Akhenaten was born,’ Ay finished the sentence.

  ‘From the moment Akhenaten was born,’ I continued, ‘the priests were against him. They saw him as a curse from God, ungraceful of face and not fair of form. Isn’t that how they put it? How could such a Prince be presented to the people? How could such a Prince embody the glory of Egypt? How could such a Prince with his ugly face and deformed body enter the Holy of Holies to make sacrifice? They wanted him dead and Aunt Isithia simply complied with their wishes.’

  ‘Very good,’ Ay nodded. ‘And yourself, Mahu?’

  ‘My mother died giving birth. Isithia hated her. My father was a soldier, often absent on military service. Aunt Isithia was saddled with an unwanted brat. She wished me dead but tried to pass the responsibility onto others. She sowed the seeds.’ I shrugged. ‘And we all know the harvest. Akhenaten was cursed and I must live with that curse. So, when my father died, the Divine One felt guilty. He recalled the oracle and so I joined the Kap.’

  Ay stood back and clapped his hands softly.

  ‘Very clever, Mahu.’

  ‘There were no oracles,’ I declared. I turned, hawked and spat. ‘Just a wicked woman and her accomplices. That’s why she was arrested, wasn’t she, and taken to the Place of Chains, the House of Secrets? The Divine One wanted to make sure she spoke with true voice.’ I laughed abruptly. ‘Of course Aunt Isithia saw the future then. If she confessed that she’d told a lie, she would have stayed in that pit, whatever the gaolers promised her. It was better for her to stick to her story and hope for the best.’

  ‘And that, my dear Mahu, is how legends begin.’

  ‘But do you believe,’ I asked, ‘that Akhenaten will dispense judgement and justice to the other gods of Egypt?’

  Ay bent down, picked up a rotting fig from the ground and squashed it between his fingers. ‘That’s how much I feel about the gods of Egypt, Mahu. What I do believe in,’ he stared at me, a gleam of fanaticism in his eyes, ‘is the glory of Egypt, the power and majesty of Pharaoh. The rattle and charge of her war-chariots and the tramp of her regiments.’ He gestured with his hand. ‘But in Thebes, in Memphis, in all the great cities of the Nile, Egypt harbours a viper in her bosom: the power of the priests. The power of the temples, their wealth, their hunger for more.’ He drew closer again. ‘The real threat to Egypt does not l
ie in the barbarians who throng our borders or the Libyan Desert Wanderers, jealous of our cities, eager for our gold. It’s the enemy within, Mahu. They must be curbed.’ He spread his hands. ‘Look at the Divine One,’ he whispered, ‘the Glorious One. How does he spend his time, Mahu? By building more temples and glorifying the priests! He has let the raging lion in the door, and thinks by throwing meat at it he will satisfy its hunger.’ He shook his head. ‘The lion must be either driven out or killed. Politics, Mahu,’ he grinned, ‘that’s what I believe. My politics are my religion. My religion is my politics. And what are politics but the pursuit of glory and power of our House and the Kingdom of Egypt?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Now you could ask why I have spoken to you so frankly, so openly. Because, Mahu, you and I are kindred souls. I need you, you need me. And where can you go? To the priests of Amun-Ra? To the Divine One? To God’s Father Hotep? They’d simply torture you for everything you knew and later bury you out in the hot sands. They’d forget you even before the dirt began to fill your mouth and nostrils. You are with us, Mahu, because you want to be but, more importantly, because you have to be.’ He grasped me by the shoulder. ‘Now tell me – these troops that are camped around our master’s house: are they there to spy, protect, or do both?’

  And chatting like two lifelong friends, we continued our walk through the sunfilled grove and into the bloody intricate politics of the imperial court.

  It’s remarkable how people can draw a line under events, then look back and say, ‘That’s when it happened, that’s when it changed.’ Sometimes it’s an easy task: the crucial point is marked by the death of a ruler or a relative. Sometimes the change is so gradual that only on reflection do you realise that things were never the same again after a certain point. The arrival of Nefertiti and her entourage marked such a change. Imperceptible at first, their influence grew like ivy round the vine, higher and tighter, spreading out its creepers.