by Wilbur Smith
“He is piercing my curtain,” Taita said flatly. Suddenly Bay grinned and pointed directly at them with the lion charm in his fist. Behind him Hilto shouted with astonishment, and gaped at where Taita and Nefer were suddenly revealed, lying on the open ground only a hundred cubits away.
“Prince Nefer! We have searched for you these thirty days past. Thank great Horus and Osiris, we have found you at last.”
Nefer sighed and scrambled to his feet, and Hilto drove up, leaped out of the chariot and went down on one knee before him. He lifted the bronze skull helmet from his head, and cried, in a voice pitched to giving commands on the battlefield, “Pharaoh Tamose is dead! Hail, Pharaoh Nefer Seti. May you live forever.”
Seti was the Prince’s divine name, one of the five names of power that had been given him at birth, long before his accession to the throne was assured. No one had been allowed to use the divine name until this moment when he was first hailed as Pharaoh.
“Pharaoh! Mighty bull! We have come to bear you to the Holy City that you may be risen in Thebes in your own divine image as Horus of Gold.”
“What if I should choose not to go with you, Colonel Hilto?” Nefer asked.
Hilto looked distressed. “With all love and loyalty, Pharaoh, it is the strictest order of the Regent of Egypt that you be brought to Thebes. I must obey that order, even at the risk of your displeasure.”
Nefer glanced sideways at Taita, and spoke from the side of his mouth: “What must I do?”
“We must go with them.”
They began the return to Thebes with an escort of fifty fighting chariots led by Hilto. Under strict orders the column rode first to the oasis of Boss. Fast horsemen had been sent ahead to Thebes and Lord Naja, the Regent of Egypt, had come out from the city to the oasis to meet the young Pharaoh Nefer Seti.
On the fifth day the squadron of chariots, dusty and battered from months in the wilderness, trotted into the oasis. As they entered the shade of the canopy of the palm groves a full regiment of the Phat Guards formed up in parade order to welcome them. The troopers had sheathed their weapons and instead carried palm fronds, which they waved as they chanted the anthem to their monarch.
“Seti, mighty bull.
Beloved of truth.
He of the two ladies, Nekhbet and Wadjet.
Fiery serpent, great of strength.
Horus of Gold, who makes hearts live.
He of the sedge and the bee.
Seti, son of Ra, god of the sun,
living forever and eternity.”
Nefer stood between Hilto and Taita on the footplate of the leading chariot. His clothing was ragged and dusty, and his thick locks were matted with dust. The sun had burned his face and arms to the color of ripe almonds. Hilto drove the chariot down the long alley formed by the soldiers, and Nefer smiled shyly at those men in the ranks whom he recognized and they cheered him spontaneously. They had loved his father, and now they loved him.
In the center of the oasis an assembly of multicolored tents had been set up beside the well. In front of the royal tent Lord Naja, surrounded by a concourse of courtiers, nobles and priests, waited to receive the King. He was mighty in the power and grace of regency, glistening and beautiful in gold and precious stones, redolent of sweet unguents and fragrant lotions.
On his either hand stood Heseret and Merykara, the princesses of the royal House of Tamose. Their faces were pearly white with makeup, eyes huge and dark with kohl. Even the nipples of their bare breasts had been rouged red as ripe cherries. The horsehair wigs were too large for their pretty heads, and their skirts were so heavy with pearls and gold thread that they stood as stiffly as carved dolls.
As Hilto brought the chariot to a halt in front of him, Lord Naja stepped forward and lifted down the dirty boy. Nefer had not had an opportunity to bathe since leaving Gebel Nagara, and he smelt like a billy-goat.
“As your regent I salute you, Pharaoh. I am your foot servant and your loyal companion. May you live a thousand years,” he intoned, so that all those in the closest ranks could hear every word. Lord Naja led Nefer by the hand to the dais of council, carved from precious black woods from the interior of the African continent and inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl. He placed him upon it, then went down on his knees and kissed Nefer’s grazed and grubby feet without any sign of repugnance. The toenails were torn and caked with black dirt.
He stood up and lifted Nefer to his feet, stripped away the torn kilt so the pharaonic tattoo on his thigh was revealed. He turned the boy slowly so that everyone in the audience could see it clearly.
“Hail, Pharaoh Seti, god and son of the gods. Behold thy sign. Look upon this mark, all the nations of the earth, and tremble at the power of the King. Bow down before the might of Pharaoh.”
A great shout went up from the soldiers and the courtiers packed around the dais. “Hail, Pharaoh! In his might and majesty may he live forever.”
Naja led the princesses forward, and they knelt before their brother to take their oaths of allegiance. Their voices were inaudible until Merykara, the younger, could contain herself no longer and sprang up onto the dais in a flurry of jeweled skirts. She rushed to her brother. “Nefer,” she squealed, “I have missed you so very much. I thought you were dead.” Nefer returned her embrace awkwardly, until she pulled away and whispered, “You smell terribly,” and giggled.
Lord Naja signaled for one of the royal nursemaids to take the child away, and then, one by one, the mighty lords of Egypt, headed by the members of the council, came forward to take the loyalty oath. There was one uncomfortable moment when Pharaoh surveyed the gathering and asked, in a clear, penetrating voice, “Where is my good Uncle Kratas? He of all my people should have been here to greet me.”
Talla mumbled a placatory explanation. “Lord Kratas is unable to attend. It shall be explained later to Your Majesty.” Talla, old and feeble, was now president of the council of state. He had become Naja’s creature.
The ceremony ended when Lord Naja clapped his hands. “Pharaoh has come on a long journey. He must rest before leading the procession into the city.”
He took Nefer’s hand in a proprietary manner and led him into the royal tent whose spacious galleries and saloons could have accommodated a full regiment of the guards. There the master of the wardrobe, the perfumers and hairdressers, the keeper of the royal jewels, the valets, manicurists, masseurs and the maids of the bath were waiting to receive him.
Taita had determined to stay at the boy’s side where he could protect him. He tried unobtrusively to include himself among this entourage, but his lanky frame and head of silver hair marked him out, while his fame and reputation were such that he could never have passed inconspicuously anywhere in the land. Almost immediately a sergeant-at-arms confronted him. “Greetings, Lord Taita. May the gods always smile upon you.” Although Pharaoh Tamose had elevated him to the nobility on the day that he had sealed the deed of his manumission, Taita still felt awkward at being addressed by his title.
“The Regent of Egypt has sent for you.” He looked down at the Magus’ filthy clothing and dusty old sandals. “It would be as well not to attend him in your present state of dress. Lord Naja detests uncouth odors and unwashed apparel.”
Lord Naja’s tent was larger and more luxuriously appointed than Pharaoh’s. He sat on a throne of carved ebony and ivory decorated in gold and the even rarer and more precious silver with representations of all the principal gods of Egypt. The sandy floor was covered with woolen rugs from Hurria, woven in wonderful colors, including the bright green that signified the verdant fields that covered both banks of the Nile. Since his elevation to the stature of regent, Naja had adopted that green as the color of his house.
He believed that pleasing aromas encouraged the gods to draw nigh, and incense burned in the silver pots suspended on chains from the ridge-pole of the tent. There were open glass vases filled with perfume on the low table in front of the throne. The Regent had discarded his wig, and a slave h
eld a cone of perfumed beeswax on his shaven pate. As the wax melted it ran down his cheeks and neck, cooling and soothing him.
The interior of the tent smelt like a garden. Even the ranks of courtiers, ambassadors and supplicants who sat facing the throne had been induced to bathe and perfume their bodies before entering the presence of the Regent. Likewise, Taita had followed the advice of the sergeant-at-arms. His hair was washed and combed into a silver cascade over his shoulders, and his linen was freshly laundered and bleached to purest white. At the entrance to the tent, he knelt to make obeisance to the throne. There was a hum of comment and speculation as he rose to his feet. The foreign ambassadors stared at him curiously, and he heard his name whispered. Even the warriors and priests nodded and leaned close together as they told each other, “It is the Magus.”
“The holy Taita, adept of the Mazes.”
“Taita, the Wounded Eye of Horus.”
Lord Naja looked up from the papyrus he was scanning and smiled down the length of the tent. He was truly a handsome man, with sculpted features and sensitive lips. His nose was straight and narrow, and his eyes were the color of golden agate, lively and intelligent. His naked chest was devoid of fat, and his arms were lean and covered with hard muscle.
Swiftly Taita surveyed the ranks of men who now sat closest to the throne. In the short time since the death of Pharaoh Tamose there had been a redistribution of power and favor among the courtiers and nobles. Many familiar faces were missing, and many others had emerged from obscurity into the sunshine of the Regent’s goodwill. Not least of these was Asmor of the Phat Guards.
“Come forward, Lord Taita.” Naja’s voice was pleasant and low. Taita moved toward the throne, and the ranks of courtiers opened to let him pass. The Regent smiled down at him. “Know you that you stand high in our favor. You have discharged the duty that Pharaoh Tamose placed upon you with distinction. You have given the Prince Nefer Memnon invaluable instruction and training.” Taita was astonished by the warmth of this greeting, but he did not let it show. “Now that the Prince has become Pharaoh Seti, he will stand in even greater need of your guiding hand.”
“May he live forever,” Taita responded, and the gathering echoed his words.
“May he live forever.”
Lord Naja gestured. “Take your seat here, in the shadow of my throne. Even I will have much need of your experience and wisdom when it comes to ordering the affairs of Pharaoh.”
“The royal Regent does me more honor than I deserve.” Taita turned a gentle face to Lord Naja. It was prudent never to let your hidden enemy recognize your animosity. He took the seat that was offered him, but declined the silken cushion, and sat on the woolen rug. His back was straight, and his shoulders square.
The business of the Regency proceeded. They were dividing up the estate of General Kratas: as a declared traitor everything Kratas owned was forfeited to the Crown. “From the traitor Kratas, unto the temple of Hapi and the priests of the mysteries,” Naja read from the papyrus, “all his lands and the buildings on the east bank of the river between Dendera and Abnub.”
As Taita listened he mourned his oldest friend, but he let no shadow of grief show on his face. During the long journey back from the desert, Hilto had related the manner of Kratas’ death, then gone on to tell him, “All men, even the noble and the good, walk softly in the presence of the new Regent of Egypt. Menset is dead, he who was president of the council of state. He died in his sleep, but there are those who say he had a little help to start him on the journey. Cinka is dead, executed for treason, though he had no longer the wits to cheat on his ancient wife. His estates are confiscated by the Regency. Fifty more have gone in company with the good Kratas to the underworld. And the council members are all Naja’s dogs.”
Kratas had been Taita’s last link with the golden days when Tanus, Lostris and he had been young. Taita had loved him well.
“From the traitor Kratas, unto the Regent of Egypt, all the store of millet held in his name in the granaries of Athribis,” Lord Naja read from the papyrus.
That was fifty bargeloads, Taita calculated, for Kratas had been a shrewd investor in the millet exchanges. Lord Naja had paid himself generously for the onerous work of assassination.
“These stores to be used for the common good.” The expropriation was qualified, and Taita wondered expressionlessly who would determine the public good.
The priests and the scribes were busily recording the division on their clay tablets. These would be stored in the archives of the temple. While Taita watched and listened, he kept his anger and his sorrow locked away in his heart.
“We will move on now to another important royal matter,” Lord Naja said, when Kratas’ heirs had been deprived of all their inheritance, and he was richer by three lakhs of gold. “I come to the consideration of the well-being and status of the princesses royal, Heseret and Merykara. I have consulted earnestly with the members of the council of state. All are agreed that, for their own good, I should take both the Princess Heseret and the Princess Merykara in marriage. As my wives, they will come under my full protection. The goddess Isis is the patron of both the royal maidens. I have ordered the priestesses of the goddess to consult the auguries, and they have determined that these marriages are pleasing to the goddess. Therefore, the ceremony will take place in the temple of Isis at Luxor on the day of the next full moon after the burial of Pharaoh Tamose, and the coronation of his heir, Prince Nefer Seti.”
Taita remained unmoving, his face blank, but all around him there was a rustle and murmur at this pronouncement. The political considerations of such a double marriage were monumental. All of those present knew that Lord Naja was intent on making himself a member through marriage of the royal House of Tamose, and thus the next in line of succession.
Taita felt chilled to his bones, as though he had just heard the death sentence of Pharaoh Nefer Seti cried aloud from the White Tower in the center of Thebes. There remained only twelve more days of the required seventy for the royal embalming of the dead pharaoh. Immediately after the interment of Tamose in his tomb in the Valley of the Kings on the west bank of the Nile, the coronation of his successor and the weddings of his surviving daughters would take place.
Then the cobra will strike again. Taita felt the certainty of it. He was roused from his preoccupation with the dangers that surrounded the Prince by a general stir in the gathering around him, and he realized that, without him hearing it, the Regent had just declared the levee closed, and was rising and retiring through the tent flap behind the throne. He rose with the others to leave the tent.
Colonel Asmor stepped forward to stop him, with a smile and a courteous bow. “Lord Naja, the Regent of Egypt, asks you not to leave. He invites you to a private audience.”
Asmor was now colonel of the Regent’s bodyguard, with the rank of Best of Ten Thousand. In a short time he had become a man of power and influence. There was no point in or possibility of refusing the summons, and Taita nodded. “I am the servant of Pharaoh and of his regent. May they both live a thousand years.”
Asmor led him to the back of the tent, and held open the curtaining for him to pass through. Taita found himself out in the open palm groves, and Asmor led him through the trees to where a smaller, single-roomed tent was pitched on its own. A dozen guards were posted in a ring around this pavilion, for this was a place of secret council which no person was permitted to approach without the Regent’s summons. At a command from Asmor, the guards stood aside and the colonel ushered Taita into the shaded interior.
Naja looked up from the bronze bowl in which he was washing his hands. “You are welcome, Magus.” He smiled warmly, and waved to the pile of cushions in the center of the rug-covered floor. While Taita seated himself, Naja nodded to Asmor, who went to take up a guard position at the tent opening, his sickle sword drawn. There were only the three of them in the tent, and their conversation would not be overheard.
Naja had discarded his jewelry and insignia of
office. He was affable and friendly as he came to take a seat on one of the cushions facing Taita. He indicated the tray of sweetmeats and sherbet in golden bowls that stood between them. “Please refresh yourself.”
Taita’s instinct was to decline, but he knew that to refuse the Regent’s hospitality would advertise his own hostility, and alert Naja to his deadly opposition.
As yet, Lord Naja had no reason to know that Taita was aware of his intentions toward the new Pharaoh, or of Naja’s crimes and his further ambitions. He inclined his head in thanks and selected the golden bowl farthest from his hand. He waited for Naja to pick up the other bowl of sherbet. The Regent took it, raised it, drank and swallowed without hesitation.
Taita lifted the bowl to his lips, and sipped the cordial. He held it on his tongue. There were those who boasted of possessing poisons that were tasteless and undetectable, but Taita had studied all the corrosive elements, and even the tart fruit could not mask their flavors from him. The drink was uncontaminated, and he swallowed it with pleasure.
“Thank you for your trust,” said Naja gravely, and Taita knew that he referred to more than his acceptance of the refreshment.
“I am the servant of the King, and therefore of his regent.”
“You are a person of inestimable value to the Crown,” Naja countered. “You have faithfully served three pharaohs and all of them have relied on your advice without question.”
“You overestimate my worth, my lord Regent. I am an old man and feeble.”
Naja smiled. “Old? Yes, you are old. I have heard it said that you are more than two hundred years old.” Taita inclined his head, neither confirming nor denying it. “But feeble, no! You are old and as monumental as a mountain. All men know that your wisdom is boundless. Even the secrets of eternal life are yours.”
The flattery was blatant and unashamed, and Taita searched behind it for the hidden reason and meaning. Naja was silent, watching him expectantly. What was he waiting to hear? Taita looked into his eyes, and tuned his mind to catch the other man’s thoughts. They were as fleeting and evanescent as the darting shapes of cave bats against the darkling sky at sunset.