The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  ‘The officers may have been purged,’ I replied. ‘Intelligent men, they would soon realise they’d been tricked. Some of them must have seen the true Akenhaten and gazed upon the beauty of Nefertiti.’

  Sobeck gazed around to make sure no one was listening, but this was not a royal palace where other people’s business was often your own. In a camp of mercenaries, in order to avoid fights and squabbles, people were only too willing to concede space to another.

  ‘Well, Mahu, I have asked you once and I’ll ask again. Why are we here? What shall we do?’

  ‘Gather as much information as we can; cause as much chaos as we are able.’

  ‘Chaos?’

  ‘If I am given the chance,’ I replied, ‘I would burn that fortress and kill the usurper.’

  ‘I do not want to end my days with a pointed stick up my arse!’ Sobeck complained. ‘How do we know Meryre won’t – hasn’t – sent messengers here?’

  ‘Because he’s too sly and cunning,’ I replied. ‘I doubt if there is anything in writing which ties him in with this.’

  ‘Did he believe you?’ Sobeck asked. ‘When you visited him before we left?’

  ‘He’s too closely guarded to send messages, whilst I am sure I didn’t convince him. However, I made him think. I apologised for my outburst before Colonel Nebamun. I pointed out that I too had been attacked by the Shabtis of Akenhaten, that my allegiance was solely to the Prince and not to the Lord Ay or anyone else.’

  ‘Did he believe you?’

  ‘He accepted my apology and listened. I didn’t tell him I was coming here, just that I was leaving Memphis to make other arrangements.’

  ‘Why should he trust you?’

  ‘Sobeck, why shouldn’t he? What do I owe Ay, Horemheb, Rameses or Huy? They only tolerate me because, in the end, I was Nefertiti’s enemy as much as theirs. They only accord me a privileged position because of my custody of the Prince. As I pointed out to Meryre, hadn’t I been Akenhaten’s close companion, his bodyguard, his friend? And do you know what he replied?’

  Sobeck shook his head.

  ‘He said he always wondered where my true loyalties lay. I also claimed,’ I smiled, ‘all hurt and quivering, how never once had he approached me or shown me any gesture of friendship. He objected. I replied that I only accepted his offer to accompany him north because I thought it would heal any breach between us. But that after that attack, I was as suspicious of Sile as I was of Thebes.’

  Sobeck whistled under his breath. ‘Mahu, Baboon of the South, very cunning.’ He toasted me with his cup. ‘Meryre may be convinced,’ he continued. ‘You did agree to accompany him. You were attacked by the Shabtis of Akenhaten, and you now blame—’

  ‘I now blame Ay for the attack at Memphis, or so I told Meryre. I left our pompous little High Priest confused, with plenty of food for thought. Perhaps he thinks we are travelling along the same road. If that attack at Memphis had been successful, I may have been spared. I may have been given a choice to either join the usurper or die. After all, I do have some influence with the Prince, as well as Ankhesenamun.’

  ‘Now she,’ Sobeck wagged a finger, ‘will have to be watched.’ He drained his cup. ‘That’s if we survive here.’ He called across to the potboy serving behind the stall. ‘We wish to join the army.’

  The boy pointed to the tent, on the right of the avenue leading up to the main gates, guarded by mercenaries in striped robes holding rounded shields and spears. We went across and repeated our request. The men looked blankly at us. Sobeck lapsed into the lingua franca of the mercenary corps. A fat-cheeked, sweaty-faced scribe pulled up the tent flap and peered out.

  ‘We have enough riff-raff!’ he bawled. ‘Be on your way!’

  ‘We are soldiers,’ Sobeck retorted. ‘We have fought in the eastern and western Red Lands as well as in Kush. We have stood in the battle line and done more fighting in a day than you have done in your long, lazy life!’

  ‘Let us see them!’ a voice shouted from deep in the tent.

  The scribe glowered at us, jabbered at the sentry to guard the donkey and beckoned us in. The tent was dark and musty and reeked of wine, sweat and fear. Soldiers lounged on either side, obscured by the poor light. Three men squatting on thick rugs faced the entrance; to the right of these was a line of scribes with writing palettes. The three men, officers by their collars and glittering armlets, were dressed in linen or leather vests; each had a club, sword and dagger by his side. Behind them stood six Nubian archers, bows in hand, arrow quivers hanging by their sides, feathered shafts ready to be plucked out.

  ‘Come here!’

  The officer in the middle gestured at us to kneel before him. He was Usurek, a soldier from Avaris, a former standard-bearer from the Ptah regiment and, as we discovered later, one of the few to survive the usurper’s ruthless purge of the regiment’s officers. In many ways he reminded me of Sobeck: narrow-faced, with high cheekbones, sharp eyes and a cruel mouth. Usurek was a born soldier, a killer to the bone. What was that ancient phrase? Seka er Sekit, ‘a slaughterer from the slaughterhouse’. The other two officers I forget. They remain nameless and faceless. Like Usurek, their bones are now the playthings of jackals whilst vipers nest in their skulls. At that time they had the power of life and death. The tent we had entered, despite its shabby tawdriness, was the Utcha Netu, the Place of Judgement. Our three judges sat sharing a wineskin.

  ‘You look fit,’ Usurek began, ‘for visitors from Abydos.’

  ‘Who said we were from Abydos?’ Sobeck retorted. ‘We come from Thebes. My cousin is Mahu. We are of the Medjay, former soldiers in the regiment of Amun Ra.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We were discharged.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘For thieving.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Sobeck shrugged. ‘We served here and there: bodyguards for merchants, princes.’

  The questions began, Usurek watching us all the time. They asked about where we had served, what weapons we had used. At the end Usurek shook his head and addressed Sobeck.

  ‘I don’t know about you, your speech is soft.’

  ‘My cousin and I were trained in the House of Life.’

  ‘Ah yes, the Silent One.’ Usurek turned on me. ‘You say you are from Thebes? Served in the regiment of Amun Ra? Then tell me, in the Temple of Karnak, what lies to the right of the Precinct of Montu?’

  ‘The Temple of Tuthmosis.’ I kept my voice steady and hoped he wouldn’t notice the bead of sweat coursing down my cheek.

  ‘And in the Precincts of Amun Ra, what temple stands by itself near the northern gate?’

  ‘The Temple of Ptah.’

  ‘And how do you know that?’

  ‘Because I have stood on guard there.’

  ‘Karnak has its own police.’

  ‘Units of our regiment still stand on guard,’ I persisted. ‘You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘Do you have service records?’

  ‘We destroyed them. They were more trouble than they were worth.’

  ‘And what Gods do you serve?’

  ‘My right arm and my penis.’

  Usurek laughed. ‘You say you were in the regiment of Amun Ra.’ He leaned forward. ‘The regiment had a famous song, a love poem. How does it go?’ He squinted up at the roof of the tent. Sobeck’s hand slipped down and grazed my thigh, warning me to be careful.

  ‘Ah yes, I remember. “The little sycamore that she has planted with her own hands opens its mouth to sing.”’ Usurek peered at me. ‘I had a friend in the Amun Ra regiment. It was their marching song. Well, have you heard it?’

  ‘Yes, I have, but you have it wrong. The line should read, “opens its mouth to speak, singing of its gardens”.’

  Usurek smiled. ‘You may recite your poem, but we still don’t need you. We have enough archers and foot men.’

  ‘But not charioteers?’ Sobeck retorted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have few charioteers. It is a m
atter of fact. Few mercenary armies do.’

  The atmosphere in the tent changed. The soldiers lounging about got to their feet, going for their swords. Behind Usurek the archers notched arrows to their bows.

  Sobeck had made his gamble.

  ‘You didn’t tell us you were charioteers.’ Usurek was no longer smiling. ‘Why should charioteers, hired by any army, trek from Thebes to Sile in the Delta?’

  ‘Because we are charioteers,’ Sobeck replied outrageously. ‘My cousin and I are very good. I am the driver, he is the bowman.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question. You said you were discharged?’

  ‘We discharged ourselves.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For stealing a chariot and two horses from the Royal Stables.’

  Usurek laughed.

  ‘We were in trouble anyway,’ Sobeck continued blithely. ‘The officers were always picking on us, latrine duty here, picket duty there. So we decided to help ourselves. We cannot go back to Thebes.’

  Usurek got to his feet. ‘In which case, you’d best come with me.’

  He took us out of the tent, shouting at the guards to lead the donkey and calling up others as an escort, then marched us through the camp to the rear of the fortress and into the chariot park. Again, more orders; a collection of harnesses was brought, and two fine bay horses together with a chariot of wood with a floor of interlaced thongs. Thankfully it was a regimental chariot, two-wheeled and six-spoked. I checked the gleaming casing. It must have been an officer’s, with its gold and blue electrum embossed and ornamented with silver palmettes interlaced with spirals. There was a leather quiver for arrows embroidered with red and silver, whilst the javelin sheath was a resplendent gold and yellow with a charging lion along the outside. The harness was of good leather, polished and strong and studded with bronze clasps. I felt the yoke pins and axle; they were firm.

  At last we were ready. Usurek leading the way, we were taken down to the chariot meadow with its range of straw targets fastened to poles at the far end. At first the horses were strange, the chariot clumsy, but we soon got the feel of the animals, the way the chariot would tilt and sway. All the skills we were taught in our years of training at the House of Residence quickly returned. Usurek became impatient and started shouting. Sobeck, ignoring him, wheeled the chariot round and round.

  You know the way it is when horses and driver become one, a glorious weapon of war, wheels spinning, chariot bucking, the horses beginning to stretch out, guided by the reins and a touch of the whip. Our circuits became faster, more skilful, until Sobeck at one end of the meadow urged the horses into a full charge. The chariot thundered forward, racing like an arrow from the bow, the horses moving as one, swaying and turning under Sobeck’s careful direction. I grasped the bow, arrow notched. We swirled round the men of straw, loosed arrow after arrow into the target and thundered back. We ignored Usurek’s orders to halt, but charged again. The wind whipped our faces. I grasped the javelin, bracing my feet, careful to keep my distance from Sobeck. One after another, the javelins hit their mark. The chariot turned, bucking dangerously; the horses faltered. Sobeck, reins grasped round his wrists, gently steadied them before thundering straight towards Usurek and his companions, who were forced to scatter. Sobeck slowed the horses into a canter and gently brought them to a halt. He dropped the reins and, like any good charioteer, jumped down to congratulate the horses, letting them muzzle his hand, speaking to them softly. Usurek, splattered with mud but grinning from ear to ear, came up to congratulate us.

  ‘No wonder they didn’t catch you when you stole the horses. You wish to join the army? Then come, take the oath.’

  I shall never forget that afternoon. A rain storm, frequent in that area, came sweeping in, low dark clouds splattering rain to soak us to the skin and turn the ground into slippery mud. We were forced to shelter beneath a tree. Usurek, still congratulating us on our chariot skill, asked further questions about our experiences. I was glad that Sobeck and I had agreed to use our proper names. The questions came so thick and fast, a mere slip would have alerted this man’s suspicions. Sobeck had made a wise choice. Usurek conceded they had more chariots than men and, when we asked why, turned away, hawked and spat.

  At last the rains ceased. Escorted by Shardana, we crossed to the far side of the fortress and that sinister Mastaba hiding behind its palisade. The guards at the gate let us into what truly was the Plain of Horror. The Mastaba, with its pyramid top, stood at the far end. Its processional way, chapel and priest houses had long decayed. The causeway leading up to the ramp of the Mastaba had been repaired, as had its door, now closely guarded. The approach to the pyramid was dominated by a granite statue of Sekhmet the Destroyer, and ugly, obscene carving covered in lichen and spattered with dry blood. A slab of stone before it served as an altar bearing the sacred things, the Tchesert, probably looted from some nearby temple: a holy water stoup, incense holder and sprinkling rod. The ground on either side proved to be the true horror: a great expanse of scorched earth with its own hideous crop, row after row of blackened stakes each bearing the remains of an impaled man or woman. It was impossible to tell either sex or race from those gruesome black shapes.

  ‘Traitors and rebels,’ Usurek murmured, avoiding my gaze. ‘They are impaled and then burned. When more space is needed, new stakes are planted and the old removed.’

  Sobeck was used to the cruelties of Eastern Thebes. I could only stare open-mouthed.

  ‘How long?’ I whispered.

  Usurek, chewing on the corner of his mouth, kept staring up at the Mastaba. ‘Two or three months,’ he murmured. ‘Our masters have struck terror into the local inhabitants. For those troops who wouldn’t submit, as well as spies, speculators, traitors, it is either this …’ he gestured at the stakes, then nodded at the Mastaba, ‘or the House of Darkness.’

  Never had I experienced such a place of terror, of abomination, a truly unholy pit: silent, sinister and threatening. I knew this usurper was not Akenhaten. Every ruler, my old master included, has a streak of cruelty, but Akenhaten only inflicted death if he had to, secretly, in some hidden place. This sickening sight was not Egyptian. The reek of decay and charred flesh was like some invisible cloak that muffled the mouth and nose and threatened to choke off your life-breath.

  ‘I have seen worse.’ Usurek sounded apologetic. ‘Out in the Red Lands and in North Canaan.’

  ‘Hittite work?’ I asked

  He pulled a face. ‘You could say that, or Prince Aziru of Byblos. He claims descent from the ancient Hyskos princes who were driven from Sile hundreds of years ago. Such terror works.’ He sighed. ‘That’s why you are to take the oath here. If you falter, if you fail, if it is proved that you are not what you claim to be, this place is where you will die.’

  I gazed around. No bird flew over that sacrilegious plot. No blade of green sprouted. Imagine, if you can, row after row of blackened corpses, gruesome shapes impaled above the burnt earth, and brooding over all of it the eerie tomb of a long-dead prince and the gruesome statute of the Destroyer. The Shardana who had escorted us were also uneasy, muttering under their breath, making signs with their fingers and thumbs against the Evil One.

  Usurek was about to lead us over to the altar when the gates swung open and the black-masked guards pushed two prisoners through. They were naked except for loincloths, their bodies covered in blood. They were forced to move at a trot, moaning and groaning, hurrying to stay up with their macabre escort, who held their chains, the other end hooked into the lower lip of each prisoner.

  ‘Fraudsters,’ Usurek whispered. ‘They were tried by a military court yesterday evening.’

  This hideous procession of death hurried past by the statue and up the ramp leading to the Mastaba. Guards appeared from the shadows wearing death masks similar to those of the soldiers who guarded the gates. One of the guards moved a stool across and pulled down the top part of the door as if it was a trap door. One prisoner was lifted up
and thrown through, followed by the next, and the trap door was quickly replaced; even from where I stood I could hear their screams, followed by the hideous roaring of a lion.

  ‘By all that’s dark,’ Sobeck whispered. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘They were given a choice,’ Usurek declared. ‘The Field of Fire or the House of Darkness. When our masters came here they discovered that two lions had moved in from the Red Lands, man-eaters, preying on villagers or lonely travellers. Both beasts were caught, and the Mastaba became their cave. Their food? Well …’ Usurek gave a lop-sided grin.

  I tried not to flinch at the heart-chilling screams of terror and the bestial roars which echoed across. All the time Usurek studied us carefully, refusing to move until the screams stopped and the death escort came trooping back down to the gate. The Shardana clustered together; fighting men, they were still terrified by what they had seen and heard. Usurek led us towards the altar.

  ‘I have never seen such good charioteers,’ he murmured. He kept us close as if fearful that the very statue could hear his words. ‘Our masters gave us a choice to join or to leave. Many of the Egyptian officers, after a while, refused to accept orders from either Aziru or his Hittite colleagues. When Pharaoh arrived,’ a shift in his eyes showed that Usurek no more recognised the usurper to be the true Pharaoh than I did, ‘the officers tried to leave immediately. They died here. So, continue to be good charioteers,’ he whispered, one finger tracing the scar on his cheek. ‘Follow orders. Never moan or complain and, as the old proverb says, “we all might live to see pay day”.’

  We sprinkled the incense, took the oath, beginning with the words: ‘All homage to thee …’ and left that sanctuary of desolation.

  So began our days with the usurper. We sold the donkey, bought a tent near the chariot park and tried to become one of the crowd. Usurek sought us out, eager to use our skills to train others, as well as to talk about what might happen. At first I thought he was suspicious of us, until I realised it was our company that he sought. We were often invited to his camp fire to share food and a jug of beer. From him we learned about the advance across the Sinai, how Avaris and Sile had been seized and Akenhaten had re-emerged, issuing decrees and demanding the allegiance of local garrisons. Hittite advisers and Canaanite mercenaries had bolstered his force, and the usurper’s presence had expanded like a cloud. One thing we quickly learnt: entrance to the fortress was strictly forbidden without a special pass. Usurek had permission to come and go as he pleased, but the likes of us were told to keep our distance.