by Paul Doherty
‘You don’t look it!’
‘What I look and what I am, General, are two different things. I am your equal, not some junior officer.’
‘The leather bag?’ Horemheb snarled, pushing his face closer. ‘You left the battle to search for it, I understand?’
‘I am the Chief of Police of Eastern and Western Thebes, my lord General. My writ runs from the Delta south to beyond the Third Cataract. I too, am a Child of the Kap, a member of the Royal Council, adviser to the Prince. You have won a great victory today in which I too played a part. I discovered the usurper to be just that. I gauged the enemy strength and gave that information to you. I judged Meryre was a traitor and should be confined. If he had continued his journey north, only the Gods know what would have happened to me, or indeed, to you. Now what I found in the usurper’s tent is not my property or your property but that of the Royal Circle. I shall not let it go.’
‘I could kill you,’ Horemheb whispered through the darkness. ‘I could kill you now.’ His hand fell to the bronze dagger in its elaborate sheath. ‘Or I could put you on trial.’
‘Do so, General, and there will be those in Thebes only too quick to point out how you usurped your power. If you kill one of the Royal Circle, my lord,’ I stepped closer, ‘why not kill the rest? I am sure God’s Father Ay and his brother Nakhtimin have been very busy in Thebes. Let me guess! I suspect they have been raising fresh regiments. They can’t control yours at Memphis, but God’s Father Ay will ensure that within the year there are two armies: one of Upper and one of Lower Egypt. Kill me, General, and it would start a civil war.’
Horemheb stood, hands on hips, staring at the sky, the very pose he used to adopt in the House of Instruction when he was wondering whether to hit someone or not.
‘Do you believe I am a traitor, Mahu?’
‘Why no, General, of course not. I found none of your letters in the usurper’s archives.’
‘I am sure you didn’t. What did you find, Mahu, you cunning baboon? Trust you in the heat of battle to think of documents.’
‘Let me put it this way, General. Those documents are no threat to you. You have your regiments to protect you.’
‘And you have your papers.’ Horemheb smiled. ‘Mahu, we are friends, aren’t we?’
‘And allies,’ I added cheerily.
Horemheb snorted with laughter. ‘I heard what you did to Meryre. You should hold on to your leather sack, Mahu. My lord Ay and other members of the Royal Circle are moving up to Memphis. They’ll move a little quicker when they hear the news of our great victory; they’ll wish to reflect and bask in its glory. You are correct about Lord Ay: he and his brother Nakhtimin, and the rest, are busy raising regiments. There are already two: the Glory of Kush and the Power of Ra. They are building new granaries outside Thebes and every member of the Akhmin gang is being given posts of power in the Houses of Life, the temples.’ He waved his hands. ‘Or whatever.’
‘Huy and Maya?’
‘They are with Lord Ay, body and soul.’
‘And at Buhen?’ I demanded. ‘Tutu and the rest?’
‘I don’t know. There’s been some unrest in Kush, but once the news of this victory seeps out, I suspect Meryre and the Atenists will either flee or take poison. You have enough in that leather sack, haven’t you, to send them to the slaughter yard?’
‘They are traitors,’ I replied. ‘Do you know how they did it? Meryre was such an eager proselytiser for the cult of Aten, he sent statues of the Sun Disc across Sinai as gifts to the princes of Canaan. He even had the impudence, under the guise of his office, to send similar statues to the Hittite court.’
‘And?’ Horemheb demanded.
‘Oh, let me finish, General. Statues from Egypt’s High Priest are sacred; no border guard would interfere with them.’
Horemheb opened his mouth. ‘Of course!’ He struck the heel of his hand against his forehead. ‘Meryre’s person is sacred, and the same goes for his gifts.’
‘The statues were hollow,’ I explained. ‘They were made in the temple workshops at the City of the Aten, fashioned to contain a roll of parchment, not necessarily written by Meryre, but by one of his scribes. I have yet to read the entire collection, but he gives information about the disposition of troops, the level of supplies in granaries, the quality of the harvest …’
‘And the situation in Thebes? Keep your leather sack,’ Horemheb growled. He gripped me by the shoulder. ‘How the wheel turns, eh, Mahu? Do you remember when we were Children in the Kap and we used to squabble over a piece of bread smeared with honey or a ripe date in sesame oil?’
‘The only thing that’s changed, General,’ I replied, ‘is that what we squabble over now are matters of life and death.’
‘Will you go tomorrow?’ Horemheb asked. ‘I am dispatching Nebamun and his squadron after the usurper. Will you accompany them, my lord Mahu, and bring the bastard back? Dead or alive, I don’t give a damn.’
I promised I would. I wanted to be away from the place of slaughter. I was also beginning to feel faint and weary from lack of sleep and food. I went back to collect Sobeck and we both retreated, away from the camp and into the palm groves which separated the plain from the small market town. I was too exhausted to answer Sobeck’s questions but seized a cloak from someone and, rolling myself up, fell into the deepest sleep.
Sobeck woke me the next morning. He had found a pot of fire and was now cooking a meal: dried strips of meat on a makeshift grill, some overripe vegetables, and bread from the army bakers. We ate hungrily, sharing a jug of beer, staring out at the devastation before us. Horemheb’s army occupied the plain. Most of the camp was still asleep; only the occasional fire glowed, pinpricks of light in that half-waking time between night and day. I felt stiff; my knees and ankles groaned in protest. When Nebamun’s herald came calling our names, I found it difficult to stagger to my feet. The Colonel was on the other side of the camp, seated on a three-legged stool, a barber shaving his face and head. A short distance away the squadron was preparing to leave. The chariots had been cleaned, the horses groomed, even the harness polished.
Nebamun had dispensed with his armour. He was dressed in a simple white robe, sandals on his feet. He grinned up at us, telling the barber to stop his chatter.
‘It will be hot along the Horus Road. I am taking sixty chariots and a change of horses; some of the chariots will carry water and food as well as extra archers. We are leaving within the hour. Oh, by the way, you look dreadful. But,’ he squinted at me, ‘as Lord Horemheb has reminded me, you are a member of the Royal Circle, Lord Mahu. I am to take my orders from you.’
I was too exhausted to engage in any banter and was relieved when we left the camp, following the broad Horus Road out of the Delta and into the deserts of Sinai. Sobeck drove the chariot, that precious leather bag tied securely to a clasp near his feet. I hung grimly to the rail, watching the broad sandy road beneath us change colour under the strengthening sun. The heat became so intense that each chariot used a parasol or awning against the glare of the sun. They say the demons live in the Sinai; I can well believe it. Nothing but a broad stretch of rock and hillock, all burning under a fiery sun. No breeze, and when one did rise, it brought clouds of dust and sand. We passed the occasional oasis, its palm trees black against the sky. The heat so oppressed the eye that by midday the blinding whiteness played tricks with your sight. The road was deserted. There’s nothing like the clash of armies to make merchants and traders decide to shelter wherever they can and hide till the crisis has passed.
We stopped at some lonely oasis to fill our water skins, sitting on the walls the Great Pharaoh, Tuthmosis IV, had built around the precious well. At first I thought Horemheb had made a mistake, until we found evidence of the usurper’s flight: discarded boxes, coffers and weapons. Two of their entourage must have been wounded, for their corpses, half eaten by night prowlers, lay in the shade of some rocks. We sheltered from the noonday heat and continued our pursuit. Nebamun reaso
ned that our horses were fresh and well provisioned. The usurper, however, despite his hours’ start, was totally dependent on what he had taken from the battlefield and his fortress. A group of sand-dwellers told us how they had caught sight of Egyptians but had not drawn too close.
We rested that night in an oasis, Nebamun sending out scouts. For the first time since I had found the records in the usurper’s tent, I was able to scrutinise the contents of that sack. The more I read, the more my heart glowed. Meryre and his faction were traitors, hand in glove with the usurper, Prince Aziru and his confederates, not to mention the Hittite court. There were other items, which I vowed to keep close to my heart. One of these did fascinate me: a piece of gold, thin and delicate, showing Pharaoh Akenhaten receiving the rays of the sun. Akenhaten, dressed in the Royal regalia, had his face turned towards the sun, hands welcoming the life-giving rays. At first I thought it was a brooch or some form of pendant, though I could find no hole or clasp. I took it closer to the fire. I am an expert on the work of goldsmiths, and in calmer days loved to go down to their workshops in Thebes or the City of the Aten and watch them work. Each craftsman has his own sign, his own way of working, yet the more I studied this piece, the more intrigued I became.
‘When would you say this was made?’ I handed it to Sobeck, who had been squatting on the other side of the fire, half watching me whilst keeping an eye on Nebamun’s men lest anyone approached too close. He took the piece of gold, turning it over and over.
‘I’d say it might be Egyptian,’ he remarked. ‘Have you noticed it’s the same on either side? It’s not a pendant or brooch. It could be a gift.’
‘And?’ I asked.
‘The carving is singular. The gold is very thin. I am not too sure if it is Egyptian. I have seen similar gold work,’ he grinned, ‘being sold rather secretly in the markets of Eastern Thebes. I’d say it was Canaanite made to look as if it’s Egyptian. Canaanite work is thinner, not as elaborate or as thick as the workshops of Thebes or Memphis.’
He handed the gold back. I placed it in the sack, tying its neck securely.
‘If something should happen to me …’
‘You don’t trust General Horemheb?’ Sobeck demanded.
‘If something should happen to me,’ I continued, ‘keep this leather sack, Sobeck. Share its contents with Djarka. He’ll know how to use it, as will you, to protect the Prince.’
I gazed up at the stars and listened to the roars of the hyaenas and the other stalkers of the night, drawn to our camp fire by the smells.
‘You found something which interests you?’
‘Well, of course, but what really intrigues me,’ I tapped the sack, ‘is that these documents make constant reference to one member of the Royal Circle I had almost forgotten about. Oh, Horemheb and Rameses are mentioned, naturally; they are soldiers. Nakhtimin and Ay? Well, I’ll deal with these later; the same goes for Maya and Huy. However, Meryre makes one constant reference which is picked up by the priests, Khufu and Djoser.’
‘About what?’ Sobeck asked impatiently.
‘Think of the Children of the Kap, Sobeck. You were raised with us. Who keeps in the shadows? Quiet during meetings, away from the hustle and bustle of the court?’
Sobeck stared back in puzzlement.
‘Pentju,’ I whispered. ‘Pentju, Royal Physician to Akenhaten. Friend of the Lady Khiya, Tutankhamun’s mother. Guardian of the Prince as a child before he handed him over to me. Pentju was never a politician; the great physician was more concerned with his wealthy patients and his treasure hoard.’
‘He is the Quiet One,’ Sobeck agreed. ‘We know his beloved wife and children all died during the plague or shortly afterwards. In fact, scarcely any member of his family remains. Well, what does Meryre say about him?’
‘He says he’d love to have Pentju with him in this embassy. He promised to do his level best to include Pentju in our journey north. Now, that’s something I never knew.’
‘Does he see him as an ally?’ Sobeck asked.
‘I have to study the documents more closely,’ I replied. ‘However, the impression I get is that Pentju is important because of what he knows rather than what he does. Isn’t that strange? I wonder what our noble physician knows that is so valuable?’
Two days later we caught up with the fleeing rebels. They had left a trail of corpses, abandoned goods and weapons and soon realised their pursuers were closing on them. The Sinai is a bleak wilderness; leave the Horus Road and the well-beaten tracks and you would die in the desert heat. Of course they resisted. They fortified an outcrop of rocks but they were short of water and weapons. Nebamun’s men loosed one shaft after another, distracting the rebels whilst others moved up behind, gaining the higher ground. Our chariot squadron watched and waited below. The rebels survived that afternoon and the following night but the noonday heat forced them to ask for terms. Nebamun was uncompromising: unconditional surrender or he would simply lay siege until, as he put it, their hearts fried and their bodies were reduced to dry skin. They threw their weapons down and came out of the rocks, no longer the power and the glory but a pathetic group of dirty, dishevelled men and women.
‘What shall we do?’ Nebamun whispered.
‘You have your orders,’ I replied. ‘Carry them out!’
The Hittite officers were promptly executed, as were the captains of the mercenaries. I immediately seized the impostor and his woman, together with their chaplain Khufu, and Prince Aziru. I went searching for Djoser and found him in a small gully beyond the rocky outcrop, face grey, eyes awaiting death, clutching the arrow wound in his chest.
‘Who are you?’ His tongue was clasped between dry lips. ‘Water?’ he begged.
I allowed him to sip from the skin I carried.
‘Who are you?’ he repeated.
‘Don’t you remember, Djoser? Mahu, Chief of Police in the City of the Aten!’
He coughed, a bloody froth staining his lips.
‘Well, well. Once upon a time, Mahu, we all basked in the sun, didn’t we? Lords of the earth.’
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘Why not?’ he taunted back. ‘Better that than bend the knee to the Akhmin gang, or that burly peasant Horemheb.’ He coughed and spluttered.
I made him more comfortable. From below I could hear the screams of the women.
‘I am glad I’m dying,’ Djoser whispered. ‘I don’t want to be part of Horemheb’s victory parade.’ He clutched the water skin again and took another slurp, splashing it over his face.
‘Did the Lord Akenhaten die?’ I demanded.
‘I don’t know.’ Djoser coughed.
‘And his treasure?’
‘Meryre knows about that. Some in Egypt, most taken away.’
‘Who is behind this?’ I asked. ‘The cause, the fount and origin?’
‘Cause, fount, origin?’ Djoser leaned his head back and, pulling himself up, broke the shaft of the arrow and tossed the broken end away. ‘It doesn’t ease the pain,’ he grated, ‘but at least it’s something to do.’
‘Are you all right, sir?’ I waved away the soldier who had come up behind me to see if all was well.
‘The cause?’ I asked.
‘Meryre. He had dreams of becoming Pharaoh’s First Minister, Grand Vizier or, who knows, Pharaoh himself. He thought you might join him. He certainly wanted Pentju; he prayed for that.’
‘But you all supported the usurper?’
Djoser leaned forward. ‘Usurper? And what are you supporting, Lord Mahu?’ He coughed and gagged on his blood, then the light in his eyes dimmed and he fell back with a sigh.
I left the corpse amongst the rocks and joined the chariot squadron. Nebamun had executed the officers but decided that the rest, nothing more than common foot soldiers and mercenaries, together with their women, should be given water skins. He pointed into the distance, where the heat haze shifted and buckled and the dust devils blew clouds up against the sky.
‘Wa
lk!’ he ordered. ‘And if the Gods are with you, you will live!’
His men drove them off; I turned to the other four prisoners. Aziru had tried to disguise himself, hiding his oily hair and fat body under a coarse striped robe. He, like the rest, was now tied by his hands to my chariot wheel. Sobeck, crouching beside them, drank his water but offered them none.
‘I am a prince.’ Aziru tried to rise; Sobeck punched him in the ribs. ‘I am a prince.’ Aziru lowered his head to remove the hair from his eyes. ‘I was once Egypt’s ally.’
‘You are a rebel and a traitor.’ I smiled down at him. ‘You have fomented trouble and rebellion. You take to mischief as a fish to swimming.’
I looked at the other prisoners. The woman’s face was concealed by flaming red hair. Next to her, bereft of all his finery, the usurper looked what he really was, a pathetic pretender with not even a passing resemblance to my great lord. Khufu was blubbering like a child; the lower part of his tunic was wet with urine. I cut his bonds and pulled him up.
‘Do you know who I am?’ I pushed him towards Nebamun’s curious charioteers, who’d been watching the mercenaries trudging off into the distance. Now they hoped I would provide further sport.
‘Lord Mahu.’ Khufu’s soft, round face creased into a suppliant smile. ‘My lord Mahu, you remember me? I was a chapel priest in the Great Temple of the Aten. I served in the Holy of Holies.’
‘And now you serve a rebel!’ I pulled him by his coarse robe. ‘Colonel Nebamun, have you found any treasure?’ I called over.
‘Nothing much,’ he replied. ‘Trinkets, personal possessions.’
‘The treasure?’ I demanded of Khufu. ‘My great lord’s treasure, it was pillaged and taken out of the City of the Aten.’
‘I truly don’t know.’ Khufu raised his hands. ‘My lord, I did not leave the City of the Aten immediately but joined the rest much later. Undoubtedly,’ he gabbled on, ‘the treasure was taken. They say it was divided and is now in Canaan.’
‘What?’ I pushed him out of earshot. ‘Do you want to die, Khufu? Do you want me to peg you out like a lion skin on the desert floor?’