Warlock: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt)

by Wilbur Smith

  Mintaka slipped into the latrine. Even above the noise her girls were making, she heard men’s voices from beyond the partition. She recognized Naja’s clear, commanding tones, and Trok’s gruff replies. Carefully she laid her ear against the planking of the bulkhead and immediately the voices were clearer, the words intelligible.

  Naja was dismissing the guards who had accompanied them on board. She heard them stump away, and there was a long silence. So long that she thought Naja might be alone in the saloon. She heard the gurgle of wine being poured into a drinking bowl, and Naja’s voice, heavy with sarcasm. “Your Majesty, have you not over-refreshed yourself already?”

  Then Trok’s unmistakable laugh, and Mintaka could hear from the impediment to his speech that he was indeed already in his cups as he replied to Naja’s jibe, “Come, cousin, be not so severe. Take a bowl with me. Let us drink to the successful outcome of all our endeavors. Drink to the crown on my head, and the one that will soon bless yours.”

  Naja’s tone mellowed a little. “A year ago, when we first began to plan, it all seemed so impossible, so remote. Then we were disparaged and overlooked, as far from the throne as the moon is from the sun, and yet here we are, two pharaohs holding between us the whole of Egypt.”

  “And two pharaohs gone on ahead of us,” Trok joined in, “Tamose with your arrow through his heart and Apepi, the great hog, fried in his own lard along with all his piglets.” He shouted with triumphant laughter.

  “Pray, not so loud. You are indiscreet, even if we are alone,” Naja rebuked him gently. “It would be best if we never repeated those things. Let our little secrets go with Tamose to his tomb in the Valley of the Kings, and with Apepi to the bottom of the river.”

  “Come!” Trok insisted. “Drink with me to all that we have achieved.”

  “To what we have achieved,” Naja agreed. “And to all that is to follow.”

  “Today Egypt, and tomorrow the treasures and riches of Assyria, Babylon and the rest of the world! Nothing can stand in our way.”

  Mintaka heard Trok gulp noisily. Then there was a crash against the bulkhead at the level of her ear. It startled her and she jumped back, then realized that Trok had hurled the empty wine bowl against the panel, smashing it to shards. He belched loudly, and went on, “Yet there is one detail that remains. Tamose’s puppy has your crown upon his head still.”

  As she listened, Mintaka was in a whirlpool of emotion that tugged her one way, then the other, and spun her until her senses reeled. She had listened in horror as, dispassionately, they discussed the murders of her father, her brothers and Pharaoh Tamose, but she was ill-prepared for what they had to say about Nefer.

  “Not for much longer,” Naja said. “That will be taken care of as soon as I return to Thebes. It is all arranged.”

  Mintaka clamped her hands across her mouth to prevent herself from crying out. They were going to murder Nefer as coldly as they had all the others. Her heart seemed to shrivel within her, and she felt helpless. She was a prisoner and without friends. She tried to think of some way in which she could send a warning to Nefer, for only in that moment did she know the full extent of her love for him: she would do anything in her power to save him.

  “ ’Tis a pity the lion did not do your work for you,” said Trok, “instead of only scratching him a little.”

  “The beast set the stage nicely. Nefer needs just a little push, and I will give him a funeral even more splendid than I gave his father.”

  “You were always a generous man.” Trok chuckled drunkenly.

  “While we speak of Tamose’s brat, let us also speak of what remains of Apepi’s brood,” Naja suggested silkily. “The little princess was meant to burn with the rest of them, was that not what we agreed?”

  “I decided to change that.” Trok’s tone had become sulky. She heard him fill another wine bowl.

  “It is dangerous to leave any seed of Apepi unreaped,” Naja warned him. “Mintaka might easily become a figurehead in the years ahead, a rallying point for rebellion and insurrection. Get rid of her, cousin, and that soon.”

  “Why did you not do the same with Tamose’s girls? Why do they still live?” Trok challenged him defensively.

  “I married them,” Naja pointed out, “and Heseret dotes on me already. She would do anything I ask of her. We share the same ambitions. She is as hot to see her brother Nefer buried as I am. She lusts for the crown almost as much as for my royal scepter.”

  “Once she has felt my honey bee in her little pink lotus flower, Mintaka will be the same,” Trok declared.

  Mintaka’s flesh crawled. Once again she was thrown into the maelstrom. She was so appalled at the picture Trok’s boast conjured up that she almost missed Naja’s next remark.

  “So she has you by the testicles, cousin,” Naja said, but his tone was unamused. “She is too bold and unruly for my taste, but I wish you joy of her. Be careful of her, Trok, there is a wildness in her. She may take more managing than you think.”

  “I will marry her immediately and breed her as swiftly,” Trok assured him. “With a bundle in her belly she will be more tractable. But for these many years past she has lighted a fire in my loins that cannot be extinguished except by her sweet young juices.”

  “You should use your head more, cousin, and your prong less.” Naja’s voice was resigned. “Let us hope that we do not live to regret this passion of yours.” Mintaka heard the deck creak under his feet as Naja stood up, “So, then, may the gods love and protect you, cousin.” Naja took his leave. “We both have grave matters to attend to. We must part on the morrow, but let us meet as already planned in Memphis at the end of the inundation of the Nile.”

  During the rest of the voyage downriver from Balasfura, Mintaka was confined to Trok’s galley. While they were under way she had the freedom of the deck, but at anchor or at moorings she was locked in her cabin, and there was a guard at the door.

  That happened often, for at every temple along the way Trok went ashore to sacrifice and give thanks to the resident god or goddess for his elevation to the throne of Egypt. Though no others knew it as yet, Trok was also giving notice to those gods that he would soon be joining them in the pantheon as their equal.

  Apart from these restrictions, Trok’s attempts to ingratiate himself with Mintaka made up in perseverance for what they lacked in subtlety. Each day he presented her with at least one marvelous gift. Once it was a pair of white stallions, which she gave to the captain of the galley. The next day it was a gilt and jeweled chariot that had been captured from the king of Libya by her father. She gave it to the colonel of the palace guard, who had been a stalwart of Apepi. Another time it was a roll of gorgeous silk from the Orient, and another a silver casket of gemstones, which she distributed among her slave girls. When they were decked in their finery Mintaka paraded them in front of Trok. “These tawdry pieces look well enough on slaves,” she remarked dismissively, “but not on any lady of quality.”

  The new Pharaoh was undeterred and as soon as they sailed past Asyut into the Lower Kingdom he pointed out a lush and fertile estate that extended for almost a league along the east bank. “That is yours now, Your Highness, my gift to you. Here is the deed of ownership.” Trok handed it to her with a flourish and a smirk.

  She sent for the scribes that same day and had them draw up a charter of manumission, freeing all the slaves who were owned by the estate, and a second deed transferring the entire estate to the priestesses of the temple of Hathor in Memphis.

  When Mintaka tried to throw off her sorrow and mourning by relaxing with her girls on the after-deck, dancing and singing, playing bao and setting riddles, Trok tried to join in the sport. He made two of the girls dance the Flight of the Three Swallows with him, then turned to Mintaka. “Set me a riddle, Princess,” he pleaded.

  “What smells like a buffalo bull, looks like a buffalo bull and when it cavorts with the gazelles does so with all the grace of a buffalo bull?” she asked sweetly. The girls giggled w
hile Trok scowled and flushed. “Forgive me, Your Highness, that is too obscure for me,” he replied, and stalked away to join his officers.

  The next day he had forgiven, but not forgotten, the insult. When they anchored at the village of Samalut, he ordered a troupe of itinerant entertainers, acrobats and musicians to come aboard the galley to entertain Mintaka. One of the magicians was a handsome fellow, with an amusing patter. However, his repertoire of tricks was stale and his execution lacking in finesse. Yet as soon as Mintaka learned that the troupe was taking advantage of the peace that had come with the treaty of Hathor and was on its way upriver to Thebes, where they hoped to play before the court of the southern Pharaoh, Mintaka became enthralled with their performances, particularly that of the magician whose name was Laso. After the performance she invited them to join her for refreshments of sherbet and honeyed dates. She gestured at the magician to sit on the cushions at her feet. He soon overcame his awe of her and regaled her with a few stories at which she laughed merrily.

  Under the cover of the chatter and giggling of her girls she asked Laso to deliver a message to the famous Magus, Taita, when he reached Thebes. Almost overcome with her condescension Laso agreed readily. First she impressed upon him the secrecy and the delicacy of the task, then slipped into his hand a small roll of parchment, which he hid under his chiton.

  She felt a great lift of relief as she watched the troubadours go ashore. She had been desperately seeking some means to convey a warning to Taita and Nefer. The parchment contained protestations of her love for Nefer as well as a warning of Naja’s murderous intentions, and that Nefer’s sister Heseret could no longer be trusted, as she had joined their enemies. She went on to tell of the true circumstances surrounding the death of her father and brothers. Finally she told of how Trok planned to take her to wife, despite her betrothal to Nefer, and asked Nefer to intervene with all his authority to prevent this happening.

  She estimated that it might take the troupe ten days or more to reach Thebes and prostrated herself on the deck to pray to Hathor that her warning would not arrive too late. That night she slept better than she had since the terrible events at Balasfura. In the morning she was almost gay, and her girls remarked on how beautiful she looked.

  Trok insisted that she join him for breakfast on the foredeck. His cooks had provided a lavish banquet. There were twenty other guests and Trok seated himself next to Mintaka. She determined that she would not allow even this imposition to dampen her spirits. Pointedly she ignored Trok and directed all her charm and wit to the officers of his army who made up most of the rest of the company.

  At the end of the meal Trok clapped his hands for attention, and was rewarded with an obsequious silence. “I have a gift for the Princess Mintaka.”

  “Oh, no!” Mintaka shrugged. “And what shall I do with this one?”

  “I believe Your Highness will find it more to her taste than my other poor offerings.” Trok was looking so pleased with himself that she began to feel uneasy.

  “Your generosity is misplaced, my lord.” She would not address him by any of his numerous new royal titles. “Thousands of your subjects, victims of war and plague, are starving and stand in greater need than I.”

  “This is something special, which will have value to you alone,” he assured her.

  She threw up her hands in resignation. “I am only one of your loyal subjects.” She made no effort to hide her sarcasm. “If you insist, far be it from me to deny you anything.”

  Trok clapped his hands again and two of his guardsmen came down the deck from the bow, carrying between them a large bag of untanned leather. The smell it gave off was strong and unpleasant. Some of the girls exclaimed with disgust, but Mintaka remained expressionless as the two soldiers stopped in front of her.

  Trok nodded at them and they loosened the drawstring at the mouth of the bag, then tipped out the contents onto the deck. The girls shrieked with horror, and even some of the men started and exclaimed with disgust.

  The severed human head rolled across the planking to Mintaka’s feet, and lay there, staring up at her with a wide and startled gaze. The long dark locks were stiff with dried black blood.

  “Laso!” Mintaka whispered the name of the inept magician whom she had entrusted with her message to Thebes.

  “Ah! You recall his name.” Trok smiled. “His tricks must have impressed you as much as they did me.”

  In the summer heat the head had begun to decompose, and the smell was strong. The flies came swiftly and crawled on the open eyeballs. Mintaka’s gorge rose, and she swallowed hard. She saw that a scrap of papyrus parchment protruded from between Laso’s purple lips.

  “Alas, it seems that his last trick was his most amusing.” Trok leaned over and retrieved the blood-smeared parchment. He held it so that Mintaka could be certain it was her own cartouche that sealed the message, then dropped the papyrus into the charcoal brazier on which the lamb kebabs were roasting. It burned quickly and the ashes curled into gray powder.

  Trok gestured for the head to be removed. One of the soldiers picked it up by the hair, dropped it back into the bag and took it away. The company sat for a long minute in shocked silence, except that one of the girls was sobbing softly.

  “Your Royal Highness, your divine father of illustrious memory must have had some premonition of the fate that awaited him,” Trok addressed her gravely. Mintaka was too disturbed to reply. “Before his tragic death he spoke to me. He placed you under my protection. I gave him my oath, and I accepted this as a sacred charge. You need never appeal to any other for protection. I, Pharaoh Trok Uruk, am your oath man.” He placed his right hand upon her bowed head, and in the other hand he raised another scroll of parchment.

  “This is my royal proclamation setting aside the betrothal of Princess Mintaka of the House of Apepi to Pharaoh Nefer Seti of the House of Tamose. Furthermore, it contains a proclamation of the marriage of the Princess Mintaka to Pharaoh Trok Uruk. The proclamation has been ratified by the cartouche of Lord Naja, accepting and confirming it in the name of Pharaoh Nefer Seti.” He handed the scroll to his chamberlain with a terse instruction. “Have one hundred copies made of this proclamation and cause them to be publicly displayed in every city in every nome of this very Egypt.”

  Then, with both hands, he lifted Mintaka to her feet. “You will not be alone for much longer. You and I will be husband and wife before the rise of the Moon of Osiris.”

  Three days later Pharaoh Trok Uruk arrived at Avaris, his military capital in the Lower Kingdom, and immediately plunged with indefatigable energy into securing to his own hand all the affairs of state, and the trappings of power.

  The populace was delirious with joy at the news of the treaty of Hathor, and at the promise of peace and prosperity in the years ahead. However, there was some puzzlement and dismay when one of the first acts of the new Pharaoh was to put in hand another massive enforced draft of men for the army. It soon became clear that he was intent on doubling the size of his infantry regiments and building two thousand more fighting chariots.

  The question was asked, but not to Trok’s face, where he expected to find a new enemy now that Egypt was once more united and at peace. The loss of working men from the millet fields and pastures to the army resulted in a shortage of food and a sharp increase in the prices in the markets. The expenditure on new chariots, weapons and military equipment necessitated an increase in taxation. There were mutters now that Apepi, despite his warmongering, taxation and contempt of the gods, had not been as bad a ruler as they had believed him to be.

  Within weeks Trok ordered work to commence on the extensive enlargements and refurbishment to the palace in Avaris into which he intended to move with his bride, Princess Mintaka. The architects estimated that these works would cost over two lakhs of gold. The muttering grew louder.

  Well aware of the rising discontent, Trok met it with the proclamation of his own divinity and elevation to the pantheon. Work was to begin within the week o
n the construction of his temple on a choice site alongside the magnificent temple of Seueth in Avaris. Trok was determined that his temple would exceed that of his brother god in splendor. The architects estimated that the completion of the temple would require at the very least five thousand laborers, five years and another two lakhs of gold.

  The revolt started in the delta where a regiment of foot, who had been unpaid for over a year, murdered their officers and marched on Avaris, calling on the population to rise and join them against the tyrant. Trok met them with three hundred chariots near Manashi and cut them to pieces with his first charge.

  He emasculated and impaled five hundred mutineers on stakes. Like a macabre forest, they decorated both sides of the road for half a league beyond the village of Manashi. The ringleaders of the revolt were roped to the backs of chariots and dragged to Avaris to state their grievances. Unfortunately, none of the prisoners survived the journey: by the time they arrived they were barely recognizable as human—their skin and much of their flesh had been ripped away as they were dragged over the rough ground. Ragged pieces of flesh and splinters of bone were scattered over twenty leagues of the roadway, to the delight of the pi-dogs, jackals and carrion crows.

  A few hundred mutineers escaped the massacre and disappeared into the desert. Trok did not bother to pursue them beyond the eastern borders, for this petty matter had already occupied too much of his attention and delayed his wedding by months. He hurried back to Avaris, using up three pairs of horses in his furious impatience.

  While Trok was away, Mintaka had tried twice more to send a message to Taita in Thebes. The first of her messengers had been one of the eunuchs of the harem, a fat, kindly black man she had known all her life. There was a special bond between the eunuchs in both kingdoms that transcended race or country. Even during the years when the two kingdoms were split asunder, Soth, for that was the eunuch’s name, had honored this special tie to Taita, and had been his friend and confidant.