by Paul Doherty
I sat down and Nebamun served me; the duck smelt delicious.
‘Go on, eat,’ Nebamun urged. ‘I have dismissed the servants.’ He squatted down himself. ‘I am a widower with no sons, though I am happy enough. Two or three of the local ladies see to my wants.’ He gestured around the stark chamber, which boasted only a few chests, stools and tables. It was dominated by a great wall painting showing Amenhotep the Magnificent, in the guise of Montu, God of War, in his chariot hurtling across scores of slain.
‘He’s my hero.’ Nebamun smiled. ‘I often come in here to say my prayers. When he was Pharaoh, there was no nonsense about the One.’ He glanced quickly at Meryre. ‘When he was Pharaoh, Hittite mercenaries did not sail along the Nile and attack the White-Walled City. They plundered neighbouring mansions,’ he sighed, ‘killed a few servants. I have sent troops to hunt along the banks; some may still be hiding.’
Meryre remained silent, staring down at his food. At last he shook himself from his reverie.
‘How did they know we were here?’ he asked.
‘Are you implying that I told them?’ Sobeck retorted.
‘Of course they knew,’ Nebamun intervened. ‘It was no great secret. Your flotilla must have been seen by many. You have been here a few days, people knew …’
‘We should have left the Prince at the City of the Aten,’ Meryre insisted.
I shifted so I could look at him directly: that round pious face, eyelids stained with green kohl, the Sun Disc amulet still around his neck. He sat all smug like a poisoned toad, cheeks bulging ready to spit his poison. He had that arrogant look which, when we were Children of the Kap, always provoked me. He was daring me to confront him, to ask if he was the traitor.
‘Shall we continue our mission?’ he asked, popping a morsel of food into his mouth.
‘No!’ I replied. ‘You know that we cannot. We are going to our deaths.’
‘You have broken the orders of the Royal Circle. The decrees of the Taurati.’ He invoked the official term for the regency council. ‘You have broken them twice. You could be accused of treason.’
‘Then arrest me, or try to!’
Meryre dismissed my words with a contemptuous gesture.
‘We must continue our mission,’ he insisted.
‘Nonsense!’ I glanced at Nebamun, but he refused to intervene; this was not a matter for him.
‘Then I shall continue my mission.’ Meryre pushed away the small table; he got to his feet and waddled towards the door.
‘Priest!’ I shouted, clambering to my feet. Meryre paused and turned round. I glimpsed the sword, Colonel Nebamun’s, lying on a table just near the doorway, and ran across and drew it. Meryre turned back to the door, but I crashed into him. Nebamun and Sobeck sprang to their feet. I tried to grasp Meryre’s head, but his wig came off in my hands. He turned, face all flushed, eyes glittering, and glanced at the sword.
‘What are you going to do, Mahu, Baboon of the South? Kill a high priest? We are under orders from the Royal Council.’ He tried to push me away.
‘This morning,’ I hissed, ‘those same people we are meant to treat with tried to kill me and everyone in this house, though perhaps not you.’ I grabbed the Sun Disc amulet and pulled the chain off his neck. He winced in pain.
‘Colonel Nebamun,’ he protested, ‘this is an outrage, it’s sacrilege.’
‘My lord Mahu,’ Nebamun warned.
‘I am the Prince’s Protector,’ I replied, ‘his official guardian.’ I brought the sword’s tip under Meryre’s fat chin. ‘I do not think I can allow you to go. I am placing you under arrest.’
‘How dare you?’ Meryre spluttered. He struggled to break free, but I held him firm against the door, the sword point digging beneath his chin.
‘Shall I tell you about the law, Colonel Nebamun?’ I kept my gaze on that fat, round face, resisting the urge to beat him or press the sword tip a little deeper. ‘Pharaoh’s law is very clear. An attack upon the Royal Person, or any member of the Royal Family or the Sacred Circle, is high treason, punishable by death.’
Some of the anger drained away from Meryre’s face.
‘You are not implying,’ his fat jowls quivered, ‘you are not saying that I am a traitor? I knew nothing about that attack.’
I stepped back. ‘I didn’t say you did, but Colonel Nebamun witnessed what the Hittite said. They came here to kill me and to abduct the Royal Personages: that’s treason! You know, Colonel Nebamun,’ I kept my eyes on Meryre, ‘that it is against the law for any loyal subject of Pharaoh to negotiate or treat with traitors. So, because of that attack, our mission has ended. You, my lord Meryre, because you threatened to break Pharaoh’s law, will be placed under house arrest. I shall take full responsibility for it. Now, my lord, I understand you are leaving.’
I opened the door and bellowed for the guards lounging at the foot of the stairs. They came hurrying up.
‘Escort my lord Meryre to his quarters,’ I declared. The High Priest looked as if he was going to resist. ‘If he objects, bind his hands.’
Meryre puffed himself out, fat fingers plucking at the beaded shawl around his shoulders.
‘I shall go to my own quarters,’ he said. ‘I need no escort.’
He walked down the stairs. The guards looked at me; I nodded and they let him by.
‘Follow him,’ I ordered. ‘As long as he goes where he should and stays where he should, don’t interfere!’
I returned to the chamber.
‘Do you think Meryre is a traitor?’ Sobeck asked.
I sat back on the cushions. ‘He could be, but there again, half of Egypt knew about our mission. I do wonder what would have happened if the raiders had been successful.’ I picked up some bread and broke it. ‘If that had been the case, we would all have been past caring wouldn’t we? But to answer your question bluntly, Sobeck, yes, I suspect Meryre is a traitor, though proving it is another matter.’
‘Is he part of the conspiracy or the cause of it?’
‘I don’t know, Sobeck. It’s like watching the haze in the desert; it distorts and confuses, a veil which hides the truth whilst deceit clouds our judgement, yet I am sure that an invisible cord binds Meryre to the usurper.’
‘So why does he want to go on this embassy?’ Nebamun demanded. ‘Is it a pretext to make contact? To tell the usurper, this false Pharaoh, everything he knows about what’s happening and plotted in Thebes?’
‘Both,’ I replied. ‘I have been invited along as a guarantee, as an act of good faith for the rest of the Royal Circle in Thebes. Of course, once we get there no one knows what might happen. I would not be the first to die of marsh fever in the Delta.’ I shook my head. ‘I think that’s the truth, though there is something else I can’t grasp about this attack.’
‘But how did they know we were here?’ Sobeck sipped from his wine. ‘Oh, I know our flotilla could be glimpsed along the Nile, whilst our arrival here would be known to their spies. But the information that the Prince was actually in Colonel Nebamun’s house?’
‘I kept something back from Meryre.’ Nebamun moved a cushion to reveal a small polished coffer. He opened this and pulled out a piece of bloodstained papyrus. ‘We took this from one of the Hittite officers, a crude map, look!’ Nebamun traced the drawing with his finger. ‘The bend in the river, the shallows, the papyrus grove, the city and the small quayside below my house.’
The papyrus was stained and ragged, covered in signs and symbols I couldn’t understand.
‘It could be the work of Meryre,’ Nebamun continued, ‘a member of his entourage or indeed any one of their spies. We had spies in the Delta, much good they proved,’ he added grimly, ‘whilst the usurper must have spies in Memphis, the White-Walled City, the garrison-home of General Horemheb. Ah well,’ Nebamun smiled, ‘it is not all bad news. A courier arrived late last night.’
‘Yes?’ I asked expectantly.
‘Horemheb and Rameses are on the move. I have been ordered to prepare the Horu
s and Isis regiments.’
‘Did we make a mistake, Mahu?’ Sobeck asked. ‘Bringing the Prince here? Perhaps we should have not quartered all our mercenaries in the city but kept them down near the riverside?’
‘Of course I made mistakes,’ I snapped. ‘It’s like being in the Red Lands. Everything is masked by a haze. What is real? What is a mirage? Who’s telling the truth and who is lying? People like Meryre are hoping we will make a mistake. We are praying they will. They certainly made one this morning. They never reached this house in time. Colonel Nebamun, you are a soldier: how many battles are won or lost by luck, mere chance?’
The Colonel merely smiled. ‘I’ll have your mercenaries brought back,’ he promised. ‘The barracks will feed and provide for them. They can camp by the riverside.’
‘Why don’t we drag that priestly little turd from his chamber?’ Sobeck exclaimed. ‘Put him on trial, take his head and send it to the usurper as a present?’
‘Another mistake,’ I countered. ‘A high priest of Egypt formally executed without a proper trial? The usurper would love that. The Royal Circle would crumble, break up. Even Ay and Horemheb would ask by what authority I carried out such an act! Putting him under house arrest is bad enough. More importantly,’ I scratched my head, ‘Meryre has powerful supporters, amongst both the priests and certain elements of the army, not to mention those who just love to meddle, to stir the shit for the sake of the stink.’
‘So you’ll go no further?’ Nebamun asked. ‘You won’t journey north?’
‘How can we?’ I sighed. ‘I still don’t truly understand what Meryre wants. We are like a boat in a mist, or a traveller in a sand storm, merely blundering about.’
‘The Hittite confirmed one thing.’ Nebamun pushed away a silver-edged plate and sat cradling his wine cup. ‘I have heard stories, tales of cruelty about the rebel camp at Sile. How the invaders are practising the cruelties of the Hyksos invaders, torturing and burning people. I considered them wild rumours, but he mentioned a House of Darkness, a Field of Fire. I suspect the usurper is showing mercy and clemency to all who accept him and utter ruthlessness to those who don’t. No wonder our spies have achieved little success. Well.’ He made to rise. ‘All I can do is wait for fresh orders or the arrival of General Horemheb. What will you do, Lord Mahu?’
‘I don’t know.’
I rose to my feet, thanked Nebamun for his kindness and returned to my chamber with its cot bed and few chests. A stark chamber, a soldier’s room, with little ornamentation, though I found it restful enough. I slept for a while and rose late in the afternoon. I visited the Prince. He was now fast asleep. Djarka was squatting the other side of the bed, weaving a small basket, something he did whenever he was troubled or agitated. I took his writing tray out to the roof. The ground beyond the wall was still being searched by Nebamun’s troops, his soldiers dragging aside the undergrowth, looking for corpses or any of the invaders who might have crawled away. I squatted down even as a piercing screech rent the air. Another scream followed. I went to look. The soldiers had found two of the enemy wounded, dispatched them and were now dragging their corpses along the path.
I sat down with my back to the wall. In the script I had learnt in the House of Instruction as a Child of the Kap, I tried to make sense of the problem vexing me. First, the factions of the Royal Council were beginning to show themselves. Four groups in all: Ay and his granddaughter; Horemheb, Rameses and the military; the administrators like Maya and Huy; and the Atenists led by Meryre. And myself? Friend to all, ally to none. My allegiance was to the Prince. Secondly, a usurper, a false Pharaoh, had invaded the Delta, aided and abetted by the priests Khufu and Djoser. Thirdly, the usurper was supported by Hittite gold and silver, not to mention troops, as well as Egypt’s enemies in Canaan. Fourthly, the Royal Circle had been informed of the usurper’s invasion. Meryre’s offer to negotiate seemed a wise move by all accounts; it gave Horemheb and Rameses time to collect troops. Meryre had demanded my co-operation. Did the High Priest hope from the start that I’d bring the Prince and Ankhesenamun with me? Fifthly, at the same meeting of the Royal Circle, Meryre had protested how the members of the Aten cult were being secretly assassinated by the Shabtis of Akenhaten. Immediately after that meeting General Rahmose, one of Meryre’s most ardent supporters, was murdered. Sixthly, Ankhesenamun had implicated herself in Rahmose’s death, assuring me that she had forged an alliance with Meryre, probably with the connivance of Ay. So why the attack on me? A murderous assault which was intended to frighten rather than harm? Seventhly, on the day afterwards, Meryre demanded that his people be given shelter and protection at the powerful fortress of Buhen and that the Prince be moved for his own safety from the dangers threatening in Thebes. Eighthly, why didn’t the usurper march south? Why did he delay in the Delta? Ninthly, why the attack on Nebamun’s house? True, our flotilla had been noticed on the Nile, as had our landing at Memphis. But all this information could have been supplied by spies.
I placed the pen down and dabbed my finger in the black ink. Somewhere here lurked a great lie. Of course, it was all lies. Nevertheless, even lies have a logic all of their own; this did not.
‘Lord Mahu?’ Nebamun came up the steps and stood catching his breath. ‘We have more news. The enemy flotilla, some of them were seen two days ago, south of the White Walls.’
‘South?’ I exclaimed, placing the writing tray beside me. ‘You mean the barges sailed past Memphis, then came back to attack?’
‘According to the fishermen who brought the news. Didn’t you say your first destination was the City of the Aten?’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’
Nebamun spread his hands. ‘The news of the battle has spread all over the river. Fishermen came to see what had happened. Two of the barges were recognised. The fishermen said they saw them at least two days ago flying false standards and, undoubtedly, armed with forged passes which they destroyed before the attack was launched. An impudent, insolent gesture, but, Lord Mahu, who would dare to stop a bargeload of mercenaries? As I have said before, troops are moving up and down the river. Look at your escort. Some of them are Egyptian, the rest are mercenaries. At other times, in other places, they could have been fighting against us.’
I thanked him and returned to my own problems. Time and time again I went back over the list I had made. Eventually the mist of lies began to dissipate.
‘Ankhesenamun, you lying little bitch!’ I murmured. ‘Logic dictates you don’t control this game; others do.’
I went down to the small dining chamber, the most luxurious room in the house, with its high ceiling, gold-crowned columns, airy windows, its walls painted a rich dark blue. A servant had told me the Princess was there. She and Amedeta lounged on the dais at the far end, cushions piled about them, the table in front littered with plates of meat and fruit. They were feeding each other chunks of pomegranate, laughing and talking without a care in the world. Both had drunk deeply, eyes bright in faces flushed and wet with the perfume from their thick oiled wigs. I stopped before the dais and bowed.
‘My lady, I wish words with you.’
‘Which lady?’ Amedeta simpered.
‘My lady.’ I glared at Ankhesenamun. She pouted and made to protest. ‘My lady,’ I repeated.
‘Oh! If you are going to stand and glare so ferociously!’
Amedeta, giggling behind her fingers, staggered to her feet and left the chamber, swaying tipsily.
‘Well?’ Ankhesenamun lay back, allowing her robe to fall open, half exposing a painted nipple; her purple-tinted fingernails caressed this, then, dipping her fingers in the wine cup, she flicked drops at me.
‘My lady, tell me the truth.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Something you know little about.’
‘Baboon, you mock me.’
‘Would I dare?’
She leaned across. ‘Why, Mahu, why do you do all this? Why do you care?’
‘There’s nothing else,’ I retorted.
‘I am part of this. There is no other place for me to go, no other things to do.’
‘Is that the truth, baboon? Is it true that you loved my father and my mother? In the dazzling time before the Aatru … You know what that is?’
‘A fiery, blood-sucking serpent.’
‘Before the Aatru …’ Ankhesenamun, elbows resting on the table, seemed more interested in the fruit. She picked up a slice of melon. ‘Before the Aatru gobbled it up,’ she added drunkenly, ‘and spat it out in a breath of dry dust. Is that why you are really here, Baboon of the South, because you loved them?’
‘True, once I loved them both, as I have loved others.’
‘Oh, you mean Khiya the Mitanni monkey?’
‘Yes, my lady, your half-brother’s mother.’
‘Yes. Yes, quite.’ She moved the oil lamp forward as if to search my face more closely. ‘And now it’s Tutankhamun, isn’t it? My father, despite his drink and opiates, his frenetic madness, in the end entrusted his beloved son to you. Our Prince is a chain, isn’t he, which still binds you to my father? That,’ she smiled, ‘and the fact that Father might still be alive.’
‘If your mother didn’t murder him: that’s what you told me the other night, when Rahmose was murdered. But of course, you were lying, weren’t you?’
She straightened up, all signs of drunkenness vanished.
‘You said you were friends and allies with Meryre,’ I accused. ‘That you cultivated him, flattering him with your attentions. That’s true, isn’t it?’
Ankhesenamun stared unblinking back.
‘You told Meryre how the Shabtis of Akenhaten were controlled by me. You told me that you had a hand in Rahmose’s murder because he might reveal to Ay your involvement with Meryre.’ I leaned down. ‘That, my lady, is a lie.’
‘How dare you.’ Her hand fell to the fruit knife on the table. I seized her wrist.
‘Tell me it was a lie. I know it was a lie. My lady,’ I squeezed her wrist, ‘I nearly died today. I am in no mood for your games.’ I gripped her wrist harder. ‘I’ll break this, then you and I will be enemies. Now tell me the truth: you knew nothing about this attack. You are only a spectator, not the cause.’