by Paul Doherty
‘I dreamed,’ I replied.
‘We all dream dreams, Mahu. They can point us to the way things should be.’ She held my gaze like a fellow conspirator. ‘I have cooked something special,’ she added. ‘It’s best if you prepare yourself.’
A courteous, tactful dismissal. I bowed and withdrew. In my own chamber I stripped and washed, examining my body carefully for any cut or mark, any trace of what had happened out in the glade. I felt my crotch, took my hand away and sniffed at my fingers, and I caught it, something I had never anointed myself with: the smell of the acacia plant, the juice used by temple girls to lower the potency of a man’s seed.
The hieroglyph for ‘festival’ – hb/hebd – is a square bowl above an oval one.
Chapter 9
The Khonsu corps were replaced with a company of the Sacred Band, war veterans taken from their duties in the temples of Karnak and Luxor. This particular corps, their shields depicting the insignia of Amun-Ra, were under the direct command of Rahimere, Mayor of Waset, the city of the Sceptre, Thebes the Splendid. Rahimere came to the Palace of the Aten gloriously bedecked in his chains and necklaces of office. My master, Ay, Nefertiti, myself and Snefru met him in the hall of audience. Rahimere processed in, surrounded by his officials, scribes and shaven-headed priests. There was little love lost between Akhenaten and this pompous Mayor. My master and his entourage remained seated. Rahimere stood, one foot forward, one hand clutching his robe as if he was lecturing, as Ay later described it, the dung-collectors of Thebes. He was a pompous little man with bulbous eyes, a snub nose and a strident voice.
‘I am here …’
‘How dare you!’ Ay’s voice cut across the room like a whiplash. He got slowly to his feet. ‘Are you not, sir, in the presence of a Prince of the Blood? You come into this hall and show no courtesies. You bring no gifts. You offer no salutation.’
Rahimere’s chin quivered, eyes darting to the left and right.
‘You may withdraw,’ my master coolly declared. ‘If you wish, Your Excellency, you may withdraw and perhaps visit another time,’ he raised a hand, ‘when you remember the courtesies and protocol befitting a Prince of the Blood, Beloved Son of the Body of the Divine One.’
Rahimere reached his decision. Gasping and muttering, he fell to his knees: the rest of the retinue had no choice but to follow suit. He did not nose the ground but bent his head. Rahimere quivered in fury. I caught the angry glances of his entourage whilst I am sure they heard my master counting slowly under his breath. He kept them waiting until he had reached twenty, then he clapped his hands.
‘You may rise,’ he declared sweetly.
The Mayor and his company did so. Some of them were old men in snow-white pleated robes and glowing collars of office. They represented the priests of Amun, Akhenaten’s sworn enemies: so overcome with malice, they had forgotten the courtesies. They shuffled their sandalled feet.
‘If I had known you were coming,’ Ay declared, ‘we would have prepared some wine, bread and meat befitting the occasion, but you arrive like bailiffs.’
‘I apologise,’ Rahimere mopped his face with the sleeve of his gown, ‘but this matter is urgent. A courier should have been despatched.’ He looked angrily over his shoulder.
‘Why, what is the matter?’ Ay asked. ‘Has war been declared? Are the Libyans marching on Thebes?’
‘No, the archers will be withdrawn,’ Rahimere gabbled, ‘as will be the marines from the river.’
‘Is that all?’ Ay sat down on Akhenaten’s right. ‘Is that the urgency of this meeting? To invade our presence because a corps of archers has been withdrawn together with barges of marines berthed at the quayside, a mile from the Nose of the Gazelle?’ Ay turned his head and stared back in mock disbelief at Akhenaten, who just clicked his tongue noisily. Nefertiti did not help matters by starting to arrange the wild flowers in her red hair, singing a song beneath her breath.
‘I … er,’ Rahimere had totally misjudged the situation. ‘I bring you news: they are to be replaced by a corps of the Sacred Band.’ Akhenaten laughed. Nefertiti giggled. Now it was Ay’s turn to click his tongue and shake his head in disapproval. Rahimere’s dark eyes glowed with anger, yet he could do nothing except make empty gestures.
‘Ah,’ he added spitefully, ‘this is important. The officers in charge,’ now Rahimere’s eyes slid to me, ‘will be commanded by former children of the Kap. I believe you know them?’
‘Ah, our good friends.’ Akhenaten clapped his hands like a child. ‘Horemheb and Rameses.’
‘Huy will be their scribe,’ Rahimere continued, ‘Pentju their physician and Meryre their chaplain.’ He smiled falsely. ‘We thought it best if your former friends …’ he let the words hang in the air.
‘Guard me!’ Akhenaten called out harshly. ‘Are they here to guard me, protect me or to spy on me?’
‘Your Excellency,’ Rahimere blustered. ‘The Divine One …’
‘May he live for evermore,’ Akhenaten’s voice thrilled with sarcasm.
‘The Divine One wishes you to be protected and safe, to keep you close to his heart as he does your elder brother.’
Rahimere had made his point. Akhenaten could claim whatever he wished but Tuthmosis, the Crown Prince, the Divine One’s heir was the true power in the land.
‘Anything else?’ Akhenaten leaned forward and plucked a grape from the table before him. He didn’t wait for a reply but popped the grape into his mouth and turned, plumping the cushions as if they were not comfortable enough. ‘Anything else?’ he called out, his back still turned to Rahimere.
My master looked up, caught my gaze and winked.
‘The Divine One sends his salutation and blessing.’
‘And do give him mine in grateful return.’ Akhenaten turned back, picked up a bowl of grapes and passed them to Nefertiti, then to Ay. He glanced up, ‘Oh, you are still here? Excellency, it was most kind of you to come.’ He raised a finger. ‘You may now withdraw.’
The Mayor, the priests and officials did so, faces mottled with anger, eyes blazing with hatred. Ay went to speak, but Akhenaten raised his hand. Suddenly from the courtyard came the sound of furious barking, screams and cries, the lash of whips, the shouts of servants and the braying of a horn. Akhenaten burst out laughing and turned to Snefru standing beside him.
‘What are my hunting dogs doing there? You know they are full of energy.’
‘You told me to bring them down, Master.’ Snefru fell to his knees, hands to his face.
‘Oh yes, so I did.’ Akhenaten grinned. ‘Poor Rahimere! To walk straight into a pack of dogs ready for the chase and full of energy. I understand he doesn’t like dogs.’
Nefertiti and Ay joined in the laughter. Snefru was dismissed and I was ordered to kneel before them. Akhenaten, one hand raised, head slightly turned, listened to the sounds in the courtyard recede as order was restored.
‘Rahimere will not forget his visit here.’ His smile faded. ‘So they are sending Horemheb, Rameses and the rest, eh? Guards and spies.’
‘Spies!’ Nefertiti spat the word out, no laughter in her eyes and face. ‘They are here,’ she commented, ‘to act as our friends, to be entertained, to be able to come and go as they wish; to listen to the chatter and gossip of the servants.’ She laid her head on Akhenaten’s shoulder, rolling back her beautiful eyes. ‘But we’ll see,’ she added impishly.
Five days later the Sacred Band arrived: three hundred men under the command of Horemheb, now a Major, and his ever-present faithful Lieutenant, Rameses. Nefertiti immediately issued invitations to both of them and others, including Maya from the House of Secrets, to a splendid banquet in the Hall of Audience. She personally arranged the menu, supervised the cooking, and selected the wines. Any delicacy the palace could offer was served: the tenderest goose, rich spiced lamb, dishes of vegetables, sweetmeats and savouries to be served at the end of the meal. On the evening of the banquet, she appeared as the very embodiment of grace and beauty, garbed in a sheathl
ike dress from head to toe in the purest white linen, with gold, a shawl of shimmering jewels across her shoulders. She wore no wig; her magnificent hair flared out like a brilliant cloud, fastened with miniature brooches and clasps studded with gems and other precious stones. Earrings glinted in her lobes. A silver gorget circled her throat and a pectoral of shimmering cornelian, carved in the form of flower petals, rested against her chest. Armlets and bracelets covered with precious stones dazzled in an almost spiritual glowing light. Beside her Akhenaten was dressed in a robe of glory, a thick braided wig on his head. He wore no jewellery, as if not to rival his wife’s magnificence. We were all welcomed into the Hall of Audience. Its walls had been freshly painted and bedecked with streamers of blue and white, and polished tables inlaid with ebony were arranged along the centre, surrounded by cushions of costly fabrics.
The food was served on precious dishes which caught the glow of the countless alabaster oil jars. No musicians, dancers, conjurers or temple girls were present. Nefertiti did not wish any distraction in her seduction of these new arrivals. Horemheb delivered the official salutation, Akhenaten made the speech of reply. We sat down on the cushions, Horemheb and Rameses either side of Akhenaten and Nefertiti at the top. Everyone was there. Huy, resplendent in his robe of office, was now thickset and square-jawed. Pentju, very much the learned physician, carried a small staff, its end carved in the shape of a ram; an amulet round his neck bore the emblem of the Wadjet, the ever-seeing eye of Horus. Meryre was in his priest’s robes, a stole about his neck. He reeked, as Huy wryly observed, of incense, slaughtered flesh and sanctimony. Opposite me sat Maya, his plump face and round eyes heavily painted like a woman’s – even his fingernails and toenails were carmined a deep red. He greeted me cordially enough and immediately launched into a torrent of whispered pithy comments about Horemheb and Rameses.
We all acted as if we met frequently, yet there was no hiding our self-consciousness and the almost tangible wariness of each other. Of course, Nefertiti transformed the event. All of us were fascinated by her. She sat like the minx she was, a Queen in every sense, gracious and kind, charming yet haughty so when she did smile the recipient rejoiced at his good fortune. Even Maya, driven more by envy than lust, did not take his eyes off her. Beside her Akhenaten revelled in his wife’s beauty, proud yet amused by my companions’ reaction. During the banquet Nefertiti made an innocent, pretty speech of welcome. To all intents and appearances she was mouthing empty phrases – but in fact she was suborning them. She began by complimenting them all on their careers.
‘If I were a Queen of Egypt,’ she laughed mockingly, ‘you, companions of my Beloved since his early days,’ her eyes danced with mischief, ‘loyal friends, boon companions – oh yes, if I were Great Queen you would sit in the Sacred Circle, be our counsellors, advisers, chamberlains and Generals.’ She paused, just for a while, until the merriment and laughter faded. ‘More importantly,’ she continued, ‘you would be his friends, my friends. Of course, you will be, you shall be.’ On and on she talked, emphasising her points with those lovely hands, moving her head to take each and every one of us into her gaze. She finished with toasts of loyalty, but her words had sowed the seeds and her charm would nurture them. Ay joined us later in the meal, sitting down at the end between myself and Maya. He, too, acted his part. Innocent, wide-eyed questions about Maya’s service in the House of Secrets deliberately made my companion uncomfortable. I wasn’t surprised when he announced that he would like to withdraw to savour the cool night air. Ay winked at me to follow and, as I left, Ay moved further up the table to his next quarry – Pentju, Meryre and Huy.
Outside the door Maya clapped me on the shoulder. ‘I hoped you’d join me.’
We walked across the courtyard into the garden. The perfume of the flowers was cloyingly sweet under a starlit sky. Maya took out his fan and wafted it. I noticed he carried a little pouch strapped to his left wrist. He didn’t walk in his thick-soled sandals but rather swayed like a woman, moving slowly, swinging his hips as he fanned himself prettily.
‘“Beauty has its own face. It is she”.’ Maya brought the fan up to his face, staring coldly at me over the rim as he quoted the poem. ‘“Loveliness has its own form. It is hers.” A remarkable woman.’ He simpered.
‘Do you say that yourself,’ I asked, ‘or is it what you have learned from others in the House of Secrets?’
Maya snapped the fan closed and put it back into its little pouch. He nodded towards the lotus-covered Pool of Purity shimmering in the moonlight. ‘You have your bodyguard here, Mahu?’ he asked archly. ‘Am I to go for a swim again?’
‘No.’ I patted him on the shoulder, gesturing that we walk on. ‘Were Imri and his Kushite spies working for the House of Secrets?’
‘I don’t know,’ Maya whispered. ‘They could have been spies, but not for the House of Secrets. They did not report to God’s Father Hotep.’ He paused and chuckled at my surprise. ‘Oh yes, clever Baboon. Imri and his companions may have been spies, but for whom?’ He hunched his shoulders prettily. ‘I don’t know. Were they murdered, Mahu?’
‘They were spies.’
‘I don’t deny that. What you’ve got to ask yourself though, is for whom?’
I curbed the panic seething within me.
‘And Aunt Isithia?’ I asked. ‘You received my message?’
‘Oh yes. Aunt Isithia,’ Maya purred back, ‘is a most interesting case. A former caster of horoscopes though now she is forbidden to meddle any further. You do have an interesting relative, Mahu. She may not cast horoscopes but she is a keen hand with the whip,’ he blinked, ‘an expert in inflicting delicious pain.’
‘What do you mean?’
Maya laughed behind his hand. ‘You know what I mean. Do you think you were taken into the Kap for your looks and your breeding? Oh, I’ve been through your records and hers. Isithia wanted you out of the way for many reasons. She still enjoys the protection of the Divine One. She instructs some of the lesser concubines, the Royal Ornaments, in certain arts of love: techniques, perhaps, which may come as a surprise to them but certainly not to her.’
‘Could she have learned about Sobeck?’
‘Possibly.’
I scratched my cheek. ‘So, Aunt Isithia wanted me out of the way because she hated my mother, she hated me, she saw me as a burden and she had other interests?’
‘Correct,’ Maya simpered.
‘Which would become difficult to pursue as I grew older?’
‘You speak with true voice, Mahu.’
‘And now?’
Maya started as a bird of the night swooped low: a black, fast-moving shadow under the starlit sky.
‘And now?’ I repeated.
‘Your aunt is well-protected. She has highranking friends amongst the priests of Amun-Ra. Why, Mahu,’ he mocked, ‘don’t you visit her?’
‘You know the reason I don’t, as you know why she doesn’t visit me. Well, not for years.’ I chucked Maya under the chin. ‘Come, lovely one,’ I whispered, ‘did Imri ever visit her?’
‘Perhaps,’ Maya smiled, ‘but he also visited the Crown Prince Tuthmosis.’
‘So it was Tuthmosis,’ I stated.
Maya stepped back as if to hide his face. ‘Now you have it, Mahu. Your Prince’s brother is very frightened.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of the stories.’ Maya squinted up at the night sky. ‘That his brother, this Grotesque, has been touched by the gods, chosen for some special task. His marriage to that beauty will not help. She is unique,’ Maya mused, ‘with that reddish hair and light blue eyes. Such strange colouring. I heard rumours that they are not true Egyptians but descendants of Wanderers …’
‘Who is a true Egyptian?’ I asked. ‘And what does the House of Secrets know about Princess Nefertiti and her father?’
Maya pulled a face. ‘Very little. They have been concealed like arrows in a quiver.’
‘Who by?’
‘The great Queen Tiye.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘it’s now evident. About the Princess,’ he continued, ‘we know nothing. Ay has a record as a capable administrator, a skilled commander of chariotry.’ Maya tapped his sandalled foot and turned as if to go back. I caught his arm.
‘Why do you still watch Aunt Isithia? Oh, I know about the horoscopes, and her stay in the Chains in the House of Secrets.’
Maya stepped so close I could smell his perfume.
‘She’s linked to something more sinister,’ he whispered. ‘Sometimes the Divine One suspects that the Grotesque, your master, is not his son.’ He lifted his fingers for silence. ‘He cannot bring himself to believe he is the father of such a man.’
‘What? But … ?’
‘Shush.’ Maya pressed his fingers against his lips. ‘Listen, Mahu. Have you ever heard of the prophet Ipurer? He lived about five hundred years ago. He prophesied a violent revolution, of everything being turned on its head, of a Messiah who would come to shepherd his people and whose presence would be,’ Maya squinted, ‘what is the line? – “cooling to the flame”.’ He swung the little pouch on his wrist. ‘The prophecy finishes with these lines: “Truly he shall smite evil. Where is he to stay? Has he come or does he already sleep and walk amongst you?”’
‘Legends! Superstition!’
‘The Magnificent One is superstitious, Mahu. And his fears are shared by the priests of Amun. Can’t you see how it goes? The Divine One is confronted with a sickly and ungainly grotesque about whom dark things are uttered. Fertile ground for our priests who also want him gone, who can hint that perhaps he is the Messiah, prophesied by Ipurer. Isithia may still have her uses in concocting a poison to solve the problem. Ah well, so much for the great ones, eh?’
‘So, Aunt Isithia still distils her potions?’
‘And offers instructions to others.’
‘She’s an old bitch!’
‘A true murderess,’ Maya replied. ‘The blood of her own kin stains her hands.’