by Paul Doherty
‘If you refuse,’ Horemheb grated, ‘you can go back to bed, Huy.’ He glanced along the line. ‘Answer the question, Mahu.’
He was sitting next to me, so I turned and held his gaze.
‘Go back to bed, Comrade, but you and I, we shall be finished. We shall never be comrades or friends again. The next time we meet will be as sworn enemies.’
‘And if we try to stop you?’ Rameses whispered.
‘That is not your duty,’ Ay snapped. ‘You are supposed to be here to protect us.’
‘I am only asking,’ Rameses cheekily replied. ‘We are officers in the Sacred Band. Tonight’s work could finish us.’
‘And if you don’t co-operate,’ Tiye spoke up quietly, ‘you are finished anyway.’
‘Can’t you see?’ I urged. ‘One way or the other, this very discussion will be made public.’
‘We are trapped,’ Meryre shrugged. ‘Either way we are trapped.’
‘No, you are not.’ I breathed in deeply. ‘The Fields of the Blessed have called Crown Prince Tuthmosis. He is dying.’
‘How do you know?’ Rameses demanded.
‘Shut up!’ I snarled. ‘Tuthmosis is dying all right, otherwise we wouldn’t be here. The Divine One,’ I gestured with my hand, ‘grows old. His younger son’s destiny is to be Pharaoh, Owner of the Great House, Lord of the Two Lands. Akhenaten will wear the Diadem and Uraeus. He will hold the Flail and the Rod. He will make the People of the Nine Bows tremble under his feet. Tonight could be your great moment of glory.’
‘I agree.’ Huy waved his hand. ‘I wish to be part of this.’
Pentju and Meryre followed suit. They both asked why they were needed. I dismissed their questions.
‘A royal priest and physician from the House of Life? Your presence,’ I declared, ‘is vital in a formal delegation from the Great Queen.’
The circle fell silent. Everyone waited for Horemheb and Rameses. The latter made to speak but Horemheb covered his friend’s hand with his own.
‘We are with you,’ Horemheb announced softly, ‘and, if it’s to be done’ – his craggy face broke into a faint smile – ‘it’s best done quickly. There’s not a moment to lose.’
The meeting broke up. Ay brought a writing tray with the finest papyrus as well as black and red ink and a sheath of pens. Passes were issued, a warrant drawn up, all sealed with the imperial cartouche of Great Queen Tiye. Horemheb and Rameses borrowed swords, I placed a dagger beneath my robes and, gathering our cloaks, we went out into the courtyard. Rameses was there with a small escort, all armed and bearing torches. We were about to leave when Nefertiti came out on the steps and called my name. I went back and looked at this vision of beauty, lovely as the night. She pressed two of her fingers against my lips.
‘I swear, by heaven and earth, we shall never forget this, Mahu.’ Then she was gone.
We hurried down to the river and clambered into the war-barges for the short journey up the Nile. We kept close to the reed-covered banks. I was not aware of the roar of the hippopotami, the breeze gently shaking the tree branches or the disturbances of the water, the cackle of birds in the undergrowth or the lights far out on the Nile as fishing boats returned to shore. We sat, a silent group lost in our own thoughts. Soon we reached the Sanctuary of Boats, the Mooring Place of the Golden Ram, the quayside of the Temple of Amun-Ra. Torches lashed to poles illuminated the steps as we clambered up. The dark mass of the temple soared above us. Guards carrying the sacred shields, ram’s masks on their faces, stopped us: in muffled voices, they demanded we show passes and warrants and explain our presence.
Horemheb now took charge. On our way down to the quayside he and Rameses had stopped at their camp to decorate themselves with all the insignia of their rank: Collars of Gold and pendants displaying the Silver Bees of Bravery. The guards let us through. We entered a side gate and crossed the different courtyards of the Temple of Karnak. The forbidding faces of statues glared down at us in the moonlight. Cresset torches glowed against the night, flames dancing in the breeze. We heard the cries of the sacred flocks of geese and herds of rams and bulls which roamed free in the fields and meadows of the temple. Now and again gaps of pale light displayed the relief on the walls, revealing mysterious beasts and royal processions leading to a bizarre world where gods and exotic animal creatures lorded over all. We passed through heavy doors cut in black granite, along narrow alleyways, past colossal statues of Osiris, Isis, Horus and the other gods of the temple pantheon. Every so often a group of guards would challenge us then let us through copper-lined doors, deeper and deeper into a labyrinth of cold, sombre passageways where the gods were supposed to walk and the veil between our world and the next grew exceedingly thin. Occasionally we’d hear the chant of a hymn or smell the fragrance of the incense and flower baskets.
At last we reached the Great Central Court leading up to the hypostyle hall where Akhenaten had sung his hymn. The Power of Amun was waiting for us at the foot of the steps: row upon row of temple guards, some wearing striped head-dresses, others the jackal or ram’s masks of Anubis and Amun-Ra. Torches flared, censers were swung. In front of the serried ranks stood clusters of priests and acolytes. I smelt the dried blood of sacrifices offered in reparation for ancient sins. Pentju moaned with fear. It all formed an awesome sight! The soaring columns of the temple, the black granite, the grotesque statues, the glint of spear and sword, those hideous masks and the silent concord of priests in their white robes and stoles. Shishnak stood in front of them all, grasping his staff of office. Meryre began to panic but Horemheb scratched his nose, an unconscious gesture when he was about to lose his temper.
‘One thing I hate are temple guards,’ he murmured. ‘Do they think we are frightened by children’s masks?’
He strode across, sandalled feet echoing on the paving stones, gathering speed as he walked. I and the rest had to run to keep up, past the statues, the obelisks, the stele proclaiming the triumphs of previous Pharaohs. Horemheb paused a few inches in front of Shishnak and handed over his commission from Queen Tiye. The High Priest unrolled it and my heart leaped. Shishnak’s hand was shaking whilst a bead of sweat raced down the side of his forehead. He kissed the seal and handed it back.
‘I … I don’t know.’ His humble words belied his haughty, lined face. Those glittering eyes didn’t seem so hard or imperious now.
‘What is the matter?’ Rameses demanded, almost pushing me aside. ‘My lord, the message from the Great Queen is most simple. She requires the presence of her sons now. We are their escort.’
Shishnak glanced at his acolytes. ‘You’d best come,’ he whispered and, spinning on his heel, he led us through the throng of priests and serried ranks of soldiers up the steps.
The Hall of Columns was a funereal forest of stone, lit here and there by shafts of light. This mournful place reeked of blood, and of sinister mystery, which the dancing flames did little to dispel. The columns soared up into the darkness. I couldn’t even glimpse the roof. A ghostly coldness hung, an unseen mist which chilled the sweat on our bodies. Shishnak, escorted by his acolytes and officers, led us down a passageway; they stopped before a chamber guarded by two sentries. Horemheb dismissed these and ordered the rest of Shishnak’s escort to withdraw. Shishnak put his hands to his face as if to intone a prayer; his two forefingers running down the deep furrows in either cheek.
‘I must tell you,’ he stammered, ‘I learned this just before you arrived: the Crown Prince, the Lord Tuthmosis, is dead! May Osiris welcome him into the Undying Fields! May Horus shower him with light!’
‘I want to see his body!’ Horemheb abruptly declared.
Shishnak unlocked the door. The chamber within was lit by oil lamps; torches glowed either side of a high window. A comfortable room with its gleaming furniture and painted walls, it was now dominated by the lifeless form sprawled on the bed hidden by gauze-like curtains. Without being invited, Horemheb pulled these aside. Some attempt had been made to dress the corpse. At first sig
ht it looked as if Tuthmosis was asleep, though I noticed the blood tinge on the right corner of his mouth, his strange pallor, the half-open eyes, the feeling of complete stillness. Horemheb turned; he almost dragged Pentju to the bedside.
‘Our own physicians from the House of Life …’ Shishnak said nervously.
‘Never mind them,’ Horemheb snapped. ‘We have our own.’
Pentju quickly scrutinised the corpse, turning the face, looking at the chest and stomach, pulling aside the robes.
‘A seizure,’ he declared. ‘Death by natural causes. At least, that’s what I think. The skin is cold, the muscles are stiff.’
‘And the blood?’ I asked.
‘Part of the seizure,’ Pentju explained. ‘A vessel may have burst.’
‘How did this happen?’ Horemheb demanded.
Shishnak coughed. ‘Both the Crown Prince and his brother had gone into the Holy Place to pray before the naos. For some unknown reason, Tuthmosis came back here. He left the door ajar. I had heard that he had left and came down to see what had happened. Crown Prince Tuthmosis was lying on the floor; he was trembling, blood dripped from his mouth. He complained of pains in his chest and stomach, of violent headaches, weakness in his limbs. I helped him to the bed. The physicians were called, but they could do nothing.’
‘Don’t you think you should have alerted the Divine One?’ Horemheb asked, playing the role of the outraged officer. ‘Sent messages to his mother?’
‘Of course, of course,’ Shishnak apologised, the fear obvious in his eyes, ‘but matters were complicated. I sent a priest to alert his brother but the Prince hid behind the naos, screaming insults, saying we had murdered his brother and that we intended to kill him. I went to reason with him but he was hysterical. He picked up incense pots, flower baskets, even a figurine and hurled them at us. The platters of food we had laid before the shrine were also thrown. I thought it best if we placated him, persuaded him to withdraw before we alerted the Great House. I will see to the corpse,’ he continued hurriedly. ‘He will be transported with every honour to the House of Death.’
‘The dead do not concern me,’ Horemheb said, walking to the door.
‘My Lord Shishnak,’ I intervened, ‘where is my master’s chamber?’
‘Across the passageway,’ the High Priest replied.
I walked out, Horemheb following me. The door to Akhenaten’s room was unlocked. It turned out to be a chamber very similar to that of Tuthmosis. The bed was undisturbed, shrouded in its gauze-like sheets. Candles and oil glowed, a small capped brazier sparkled in the corner.
‘I must see my master,’ I declared.
‘You cannot go in there.’ Shishnak’s old arrogance asserted itself. ‘You are not purified.’
A stoup of holy water rested in a niche in the chamber wall. I took off my sandals, went across and bathed my hands, face and feet with the salt-laced water; it stung my eyes and a small cut on my face. I shook myself dry, using the edge of my robe.
‘Now I am purified.’
‘But you can’t.’
Horemheb drew his sword.
‘What other way is there to convince the Prince?’ I hissed, my voice echoing along the cavernous passageway. ‘I am his servant – he will trust me.’
Shishnak closed his eyes, fighting with himself.
‘It’s the only way,’ Horemheb repeated.
Shishnak opened his eyes, then, grasping me by the arm and telling Horemheb to stay, he led me back into the Hall of Columns. Two acolytes escorted us through the gloomy hall past statues and carvings, shrines and chapels to the great gold-plated doors of the Holy of Holies which shimmered in the light of torches held by the officers gathered there. One of the acolytes whispered instructions. The doors opened. I ignored the exclamations and cries of the guards and priests clustered behind me and strode straight into that cold, empty tomb of a room. The great tabernacle stood on its stone daïs, the open doors displaying the gold-plated figure of Amun, the Silent One, the God Who-Watches-All. Before it were small slabs of stone on which the offerings and flower baskets were placed: these had been violently disturbed. The floor was strewn with gold plate, goblets and jugs, slabs of meat, loaves of bread, fruit of every kind. I walked slowly, almost slipping as my foot crushed a bunch of juicy grapes. The air reeked with sweet and sour smells of natron, incense, cassia and the cloying smell of myrrh. A haunted place of shifting shadows. One of these moved from behind a pillar. My master entered the ring of torchlight, his robes stained, cut and torn, but he had regained his composure.
‘Mahu. It’s good to see you.’
I stretched out my hands. ‘Master, we are to escort you home. You are safe.’
Akhenaten strode towards me, his cane rapping the ground.
He kicked aside platters and grasped my hand. ‘Mahu, let us go. Let’s leave this abode of demons.’
‘Rouse yourself, turn yourself over, O King!’
(Utterance 664: Pyramid Text)
Chapter 12
‘It springs for thee,
The rising of the Nile.
The water of life.
It grows for thee,
That which comes from the water,
The rich black lands of Egypt.
The sky burns for thee,
The land trembles for thee,
Thy feet are nosed by pure water.
The King is prosperous!
The palace flourishes!
The month is born!
The land is covered.
The barley grows!’
Meryre’s sonorous voice carried the hymn throughout the chamber. Dressed in white drapery, he acted the role of lector priest before the Royal Circle in the great Council Chamber next to the Banqueting Hall at the heart of the Malkata Palace. I was there, forced to listen to his nonsense. I kept my face straight as I tried not to recall Meryre, arse naked, being chased like a squirrel by the rest of the children of the Kap across the marshy shallows of the Nile.
It was supposed to be a sacred occasion. Akhenaten sat on a daïs shaped like a shrine with a stucco pillar on either side painted blue and green with golden ivy clinging to it. The top of these columns were blood-red acanthus leaves, their base yellow palm fronds rimmed with silver. Along the top of the daïs was a serried row of cobras, gilded green-gold and black with sparkling angry ruby eyes, glaring threateningly out at us. The rest of the chamber was painted a cobalt blue, the Magnificent One’s favourite colour, except for the pillars, carved in the shape of thick papyrus stems, which glowed a vibrant green and yellow.
The stone floor of light blue was smooth and polished as water. At either end of the chamber, rectangular Pools of Purity edged with red tiles glistened in the glow of oil lamps. On the surface of these pools floated blue and white lotus, their sweetness mingling with the sponges soaked in perfume placed in pots in shadowy corners and niches. The windows were unshuttered and, like the doors, their lintels were of precious wood, lapis lazuli and glittering stones. Outside stretched the gardens, the paradise of the palace, lush and verdant. From where I stood behind my master, I could hear the braying and bleating of the sacred flocks.
Akhenaten was dressed in state costume: short drawers of pleated gauze ornamented at the back with a jackal’s tail and, in the front, a stiffened apron of gold and coloured enamel; a large robe of the purest linen draped his shoulders. On his feet were peaked sandals and over his head a beautiful cloth of gold striped white and red. A pectoral of the purest jewels carved in the shape of the Vulture Goddess Nekhbet hung round his neck, rings of office decorated his fingers and in his hand was a golden ankh, the sign of life. I had watched his face being painted and embellished before the Royal Circle met; the dark kohl rings round his eyes contrasted with the flesh-coloured paint on his face and his carmine-daubed lips. Across the Royal Circle sat Hotep in his white robes and gleaming chains of office. The Magnificent One’s close friend and First Minister kept his face impassive though when he stared at me, cynical amusement g
linted in his eyes. Great Queen Tiye sat on Akhenaten’s right, Nefertiti on his left, her abdomen now bulging out, straining against the loose thin robe. Ay, holder of the Divine seal, sat next to her.
Everyone was lost in their own thoughts as Meryre’s voice rose and fell. In the ninety days following Tuthmosis’ death, matters had moved as swiftly as a swallow racing against the sky. The Divine One, stricken by the death of his firstborn, had sunk deeper into a stupor of drugged pleasure, or so Ay had informed me. Great Queen Tiye had also aged: grey-faced, shoulders slightly stooped even though her beloved son had now not only been recognised by the Palace but proclaimed as the Magnificent One’s Co-regent, joint ruler, Beloved of Amun, Horus in the South.
My master had certainly changed. The events in the Temple of Amun-Ra remained hidden. The few details I had gleaned were that he and Tuthmosis had been worshipping in the Holy of Holies when Akhenaten had started to ridicule what he termed ‘the empty charade of the priests’. Tuthmosis, angry at such blasphemy, had clashed with him and withdrawn.
‘He left me to laugh,’ Akhenaten declared as he squatted in the garden pavilion dressed in his robes of mourning, ash staining his head and brow. ‘Mahu, I was laughing at the little statue in its cupboard. I told him I’d pick it up and walk away.’ Akhenaten squinted at the lotus he held. ‘Then the shaven heads came back. They said my brother had fallen seriously ill. I stopped laughing. I thought it was a plot to draw me out so I refused to leave’ – he smiled – ‘until you came. How did you learn about it? Mother is as enigmatic as ever.’
I told him about Maya. He nodded, thrust the lotus in my hand, rose and left. I never had time to voice my own suspicions. The time was not ripe. I had no proof but there was something about those two chambers in the Temple of Amun-Ra which jarred my memory; something amiss, out of place. It was like trying to recall a dream, the details always evading me. Oh, of course, everyone was thanked. Horemheb and Rameses were promoted to the Maryannou, members of the crack royal corps known as the ‘Braves of the King’. Huy became Chief Scribe in the House of Envoys, Pentju, Royal Physician with the right to wear the panther skin and the Ring of Light as well as carry the Staff of Life. Meryre was confirmed as Principal Chapel Priest, Chaplain to the Royal Household and Lector Priest to the Imperial Royal Circle. Ay had really come into his own: he was given, amongst others, the titles of Pharaoh’s Close Friend, God’s Father, Principal Councillor, Chief of Scribes, Keeper of the Seals. Maya, of course, would have to wait. And for Mahu? Ah well, Mahu received nothing but caskets of precious stones and a close embrace from both Akhenaten and Nefertiti, reward enough, together with the title of Keeper of the Keys. In other words, I was Akhenaten’s personal bodyguard.